Nandi whispered softly to the woman, trying to get her to calm down.
Nandi turned to me and explained that this was Moffit’s sister, who had been away in South Africa when he died and had only now been able to return. She wanted to speak to Nandi’s brother as well.
I nodded to her solemnly.
The woman scoffed at me. “And who is this?” She looked me up and down. “An informer for the rangers?”
Nandi shook her head and whispered, “No, she is not an informer. This is Catherine Sohon.”
The woman turned away, refusing the introduction. “That last payment was supposed to go to me. Sianga owes me that.”
Suddenly, two large female prisoners lunged at the bars and hissed at the woman with their index fingers over their fleshy mouths. They pointed to the guards standing nearby. They urgently put hands to ears and lips. One of the women hissed in a whisper, “Don’t be stupid. It’s not private here, lady.”
I nodded to the women gratefully. Whatever it was that the induna’s son was hiding, I didn’t want anything to happen to him before we were able to speak to him ourselves. Knowledge of illicit business of any kind seemed to be a liability around here, particularly when it had to do with smuggling ivory and large amounts of cash.
Nandi convinced Moffit’s sister to wait outside until we were finished. She told her that she might be too late for what she was looking for and that her brother was in grave danger—that her questions might make things worse for him. With her departure came a collective sigh of relief.
Eventually Nandi’s brother was let into the communal area. He saw Nandi and approached looking hopeful. They exchanged a few words in Yeye. He nodded over to me, and their conversation got tense. Nandi’s tone became urgent as she started to plead with him.
He turned away from her to look at me, clutching the bars from inside the cell. “Do you have a cigarette?”
A baton slammed against the bars next to my shoulder and Sianga’s hands let go of the bars. My head spun around to see a guard looming over me.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke. My name is Catherine.”
“This is my brother, Sianga,” said Nandi.
Nandi spoke to her brother again more calmly. I had explained to her on the ride over that the ivory found in his yard came from the same lot of tusks found at Susuwe in the trunk of the murder victims’ car. I had told her that he might be in even more trouble than he might have thought. It would be important to know what really happened—whether someone planted the ivory on him to frame him, or whether he knew more than he was willing to tell anyone. He’d have a better chance if he offered what he knew before the evidence came out.
After a prolonged whispered terse discussion, Sianga looked at me and shook his head. “I cannot tell anything.”
I looked at him squarely. “I understand you may know something that might help.”
Sianga stared, his face expressionless. “It is too dangerous for my family.”
I had to bite my tongue. I wanted more than anything to ask him if he was there that day—at the crime scene at Susuwe. I wanted to know why the exchange went badly. Why did they kill those people? Instead, I whispered very softly, “We can protect you if you help us.”
Nandi took a moment to look me up and down as if she had missed something about me, as if to wonder how it might be possible for me to offer her brother protection. Then she whispered as the young man stared back at me with cold eyes, “You have to ask my father first.”
“Ask him what?” I now felt the urgent need to know what this man knew, and I didn’t want to have to wait a whole week before seeing the induna. Anything could happen in a week—not to mention how many more elephants could die. And with the police not showing up in time to catch Alvares with a mokoro full of weapons, I felt as if our options for bringing all these criminals to justice were narrowing by the day. Not to mention Craig’s latest thinking. He had to be wrong about Jon. I couldn’t dwell on what it might mean if Craig’s suspicions turned out to be true. But either way, I had no choice but to put some distance between us.
And we needed to be able to gather evidence that couldn’t be thrown out. The fact that my pictures confirmed that Ernest was alive and was Geldenhuis’s smuggling partner was a big step forward, but now I knew from the genetic evidence that the second accessory to the witch doctor’s bloody quadruple murder at Susuwe might be standing right in front of me, and I wasn’t ready to walk away empty-handed.
Sianga looked at me, first uncertainly, and then with knowing eyes. “My father has to agree that I can give you what you are looking for.”
I couldn’t help but clench my fists in frustration, knowing there was nothing I could do but appear grateful for his willingness to consider talking to me. I bowed slightly. “Thank you for seeing us. I’ll be back next week.”
After Nandi and Sianga exchanged a few more panicked sentences in Yeye, Sianga fell silent. Nandi turned and walked away, motioning for me to follow. We left the prison with our eyes to the ground.
Fortunately, my mind was going to be occupied with the elephant count for the next week or I’d have been driven mad with anticipation of the importance of what Sianga might have to tell me. More delays meant more elephant deaths.
Chapter 34
I pulled up on the yoke to give us a better view of the elephant herd that extended across several kilometers around Horseshoe. The place looked all the more beautiful from above in the early morning light—the glistening oxbow lake of Horseshoe teeming with elephants. Pods of hippos dotted the bends in the river, bobbing up and down in objection to our presence as we flew over at one hundred meters. It felt great to be up flying a census again.
Jon was counting furiously from the backseat, sitting next to Natembo. Gidean was in the front adding the numbers on a chart. After three hours of census flying, I was pretty exhausted. But the place was littered with elephants, which made the time fly by.
All morning we had counted groups of several hundred that extended all along the Kwando heading south from Susuwe, and seeing this many elephants was breathtaking. “This is unbelievable!” I said, leaning over to Gidean and speaking loudly through the airplane headset.
Gidean nodded, holding his stratified map of coordinates and elephant numbers on a clipboard. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He leaned over to take a photograph.
Jon called up from the back, “Five hundred on this side and still more.”
“Four hundred this side,” called Natembo.
“Largest group I’ve ever seen,” Jon called. “Total of six hundred on my side.”
Gidean entered the count on his map. “Natembo, your final count?”
“Five hundred and fifty this side,” Natembo answered.
We were doing the stratified count as planned, flying at a height of a hundred meters along a predetermined set of GPS coordinates that were one kilometer apart. The tight coordinates meant a lot of banking—which was having a cumulative effect on my stomach, despite the Dramamine I had taken.
I looked at the mirror as Jon dipped into a bag of greasy slices of dried meat. “Wouldn’t want to drive through that lot!” He laughed and chewed hungrily as he saw me looking at him. “Bloody pachyderm Jurassic Park deal.” He handed the soggy bag up to me. “Gemsbok. Keeps the stomach grounded.”
I hesitated as I looked into the bag of greasy globs that were more fat than meat. I decided that I’d better decline. And I wasn’t going to allow myself not to enjoy Jon’s company. Just as long as I didn’t say anything incriminating, what would it hurt? If I suddenly became cool, that would also not be good, as he’d sense that something was wrong. I was going to ride this out and Craig would have an explanation for his doubt and we’d move past this awkward situation. I had to believe that. And right now, I needed to believe that.
We flew south along the snaking Kwando and continued past Horseshoe. The river looked as if it went on forever south. But when we reached the Botswana cutline we turned due west t
oward the Kavango River, two hundred kilometers away.
After a few minutes of flying over the sandveld, we came upon a long double fence bordering Botswana. I could see a kudu caught in between the fences, trying to escape. Carcasses of those that hadn’t make it hung on the fence.
“Jon, is the ministry aware of this?”
“It’s a bloody travesty.” He chewed on some more biltong. “Cattle can’t rub noses with wildlife if the Europeans are to enjoy disease-free prime rib.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Used to be worse. The fence used to come right up to the river. Now, at least there is a twenty-kilometer corridor for game to move up and down the Kwando and Kavango.”
“That’s right, you mentioned that elephant-movement study showing how much elephants use the area.”
“Yes, sometimes scientific data actually gets turned into management policy.” He smiled. “A rare thing indeed.”
Gidean finished reviewing his map and looked over at me. “We’ve finished the southern high-density area. We need to do the block along the Angolan border.” He pointed to his watch. “Do we have time?”
I checked the fuel gauge and nodded, banking left over the floodplain. We headed north along the sparkling Kwando, past Hippo Pool, past Nambwa Campsite, past Susuwe, and up toward the Angolan border.
The right side of the floodplain was lined with cornfields in various stages of harvest, some in the range of a hectare or two and some much more substantial. Clusters of huts dappled the horizon far inland of the floodplain, first the village of Choyi and then Kongola, and as we got further north, Shesheke and then the sprawling Singalamwe, bordering Zambia. We must have seen six or seven large groups of hippos along the way.
When we reached a long straight cutline that looked like a firebreak, I recognized the Angolan border. I started banking left and pressed down on the left rudder, but I was a little too late and we crossed the border.
An urgent voice came over the radio. “Identify yourself! You do not have permission to cross into Angolan airspace!”
Startled, I banked more sharply.
“If you do not explain your purpose we are prepared to shoot!”
I grabbed the radio. “Radio one. Radio one. Please be prepared for Cessna 182 code 22668. Permission to bank over border. Aerial survey under way.” As I spoke, I could see a whole open area between dense veins of trees that was filled with freshly butchered elephant carcasses, smoke from a fire, and long strings of red meat hanging on drying racks. This was a different camp. And much bigger than the previous one.
Jon called up from the back, “Je’sus, Catherine, get us out of here, now.”
The sounds of automatic weapon fire exploded from below. The high-pitched sound of bullets penetrating the metal of the fuselage pierced my ears like daggers. “Damn it!” I pulled up on the yoke and quickly gained elevation.
In our rapid ascent, I had to dodge a group of vultures spiraling in a thermal and try not to stall the plane in the process. The plane began to bounce in the thermal, and I fought the rudder pedals and yoke as hard as I could, trying to stay level. I tightened my stomach and tried to focus on every detail as the conditions kept changing.
Jon grabbed my seat from behind as we continued to bounce through the thermal. “Kak, man!”
Natembo sat in stoic silence, while Gidean looked like his life was passing before him.
Suddenly the plane hit an air pocket and we went into a free fall from a hundred meters. My stomach lurched as I pushed in the throttle and pulled up on the yoke to get some lift. My stomach felt like it was coming out of my mouth as my ears popped from the loss of altitude. There were a few sickening seconds of dread before the plane leveled out at fifty meters, just above a dense acacia woodland.
My heart was beating in my ears. I took deep breaths to ease my pulse and loosen up my rib cage. I tried to appear as calm as possible under the circumstances. I held the lives of these guys in my hands. All I could think about was getting us all on solid ground as quickly as possible. I had never before been shot at in flight, and I had only been in two other free falls as a pilot at such a low elevation, but they hadn’t lasted nearly as long as this one.
They say that things slow down in the final moments before disaster. But what no one says is that time actually stands still. Those sickening moments churn in the gut like they had been there for an eternity. I would have given anything for time to move faster on any one of these occasions, but it never does.
We flew the thirty minutes back to Popa Falls in silence. I could tell that no one wanted to guess how many carcasses they had seen. This block would have to wait to be counted.
Chapter 35
After a smooth landing at the Popa Falls airstrip, we’d inspected the damage and determined that we’d only have one day of delay while the holes were patched. The bullet holes were not as bad as we had anticipated, and fortunately none of them had penetrated the fuel tanks. We refueled, returned to camp, and showered. The temperature was dropping, so I was glad we were spending the night in cabins and not in tents.
After I put on crisp jeans and a sweatshirt, at least my body felt refreshed, even though I was still traumatized. And my stomach had finally settled down. The turbulence and sharp banking had made me feel incredibly nauseous. And being shot at didn’t help. In hindsight, I should have taken two Dramamine instead of just the one I took when I woke up.
Our cellphones didn’t work in this area, so Jon borrowed my satellite phone to call the MCD and the permanent secretary to report the border incident. The MCD would follow up with the army. I couldn’t help but remain within earshot of these conversations, but I tried not to hover. He seemed not to mind my presence; in fact, I felt like he was encouraging me to be there, looking me in the eye and engaging me in the phone conversation.
Afterward, I couldn’t get through to Craig, but I sent him a text message. The investigation was set in motion at least. That was some consolation for what we had just witnessed.
Jon quickly started the barbecue in front of our cabins and when the coals were ready, we all watched as he turned a rack of lamb sandwiched between two metal grids sitting over the bed of coals. He delicately squeezed lemon over the rosemary-smothered ribs. Natembo stirred briskly with a wooden spoon, while Gidean poured powdery mealie meal into boiling water in a three-legged pot. I watched their expert technique with great interest, as my pap always came out lumpy and grainy. It was supposed to have the consistency of mashed potatoes.
Though everyone else was in a somber mood, Jon was in rare form as he tended his barbecue. “This braai is going to be to die for, I promise you!”
“Good, I’m starving.” I smiled and carried on with my data entry.
Jon held up a braai tong. “Je’sus. I must confess, I didn’t think we were going to make it. The grim reaper was showing his ugly face in my biltong bag.”
I shook my head. “That was a rough one.”
His eyes twinkled. “You stayed bloody cool up there.”
As he stared at me admiringly, I quickly changed the subject, so as not to be the focus of attention. “How many carcasses you think there were?” Seeing as I was distracted by having to dodge bullets, I hadn’t been able to count.
“I counted seventeen,” said Gidean, continuing to pour meal into the pot as Natembo stirred.
“Bloody bastards.” Jon shook his head. “I promise you, somebody’s taken control of Savimbi’s old troops. They should have disbanded long ago.”
“Think the Chinese are active in Angola?” I asked, having read about a big ivory market in Luanda.
“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Jon squeezed more lemon onto the rib, and it sizzled. “Perhaps their building contracts come with certain perks. On the other side of the border, the elephant has no rights.”
As I watched Jon turning the rack of ribs, I was enjoying the fact that I seemed to be on his good side again, despite the fact that we were both hiding something from the other.
And the fact that we both seemed to be avoiding re-creating that electric moment we had had on his boat made me wonder all the more exactly what he was hiding, and what he knew about my involvement. Part of me was relieved that we hadn’t gotten back to that space, but part of me yearned for a return to that intimate moment.
I tried not to pin all my hope on what the induna’s son had to offer in terms of information, but I couldn’t help wishing that he’d help us place Ernest at the scene of the murder. We’d be able to use that as additional ammunition to link Geldenhuis to the Zambian smuggling ring through his relationship to Ernest—a relationship established by the photos that I had taken.
“Oh, Catherine.” Jon pointed his braai tongs at me. “During my call to the permanent secretary, I didn’t mention to you that he got through to the magistrate. He has decided to accept the photos as evidence after all.”
I stopped my data entry. “Really?” I was confused. Why hadn’t he mentioned this earlier? “That’s fantastic!” I paused, my mind a blur of memories of taking the photos, and also of Craig’s warning about Jon. “What changed his mind?” I said guardedly.
“The additional photos that we submitted. Apparently, all we need is to have the photographer testify as to the authenticity of the photographs. Then we can proceed.”
I tried to keep a straight face. Was this a joke? Was he testing me? Or did he genuinely not know that I was responsible for the photographs? Or did he know that I was, and know that they could be thrown out and was trying to drag me into the case to shut me down.
“I’ll speak to Craig when we get back to town, and we’ll get it sorted,” Jon said.
“Oh, that’s okay,” I chimed in a little too quickly. “I’ll tell him about it.” All I could think about was getting on the phone with Craig and asking him to stall. But that might mean facing the probability of more dead elephants—a much bigger issue to contend with than my dilemma with Jon. I had to stay focused.
Ivory Ghosts Page 21
