Ivory Ghosts

by Caitlin O'Connell

  I nodded, startled by his sudden aggression.

  “Well, he’s dead!” he yelled, clenching his teeth. “That fighter is dead!” he hissed.

  His expression transformed him into someone I didn’t know—someone I would never want to know. Like the Jon I first met.

  “Do you get that? He’s dead!” he yelled and waved a hand at me. “Now, get out!”

  I took a breath and paused. “I don’t believe that.” I saw the half-empty whiskey bottle on the floor next to his desk and I sat down again, facing him. “Something else happened, didn’t it?” In the silence, I got up, walked around his desk, and put a hand on his shoulder. “The case was thrown out, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Nice work, flying over the border illegally.”

  “I thought I had permission.”

  “I bet you were quite amused watching me, the fool, try to stick to protocol. Well, let me tell you something.” He pointed a finger at me. “I’m through with this case, and I’m through dealing with you.” He turned his chair around to face the window. “In fact, I’m going to request that your clearance with this ministry be revoked. It’s obvious WIA doesn’t need our help with your little plot anyway.”

  I stood in place with fists clenched, watching him smolder as he stared out the window.

  He turned and looked me up and down, mockingly. “The damsel in distress pilot-cum-biologist with your teary memories, coming here to make up for past mistakes. Well, I’m not going to be part of your next mistake.”

  I was crushed. “You miserable bastard,” I said as I stormed out.

  —

  On my drive back to Susuwe with tears streaming down my face, all I could think about was calling my father, just to hear his voice. I’d keep it short. He knew I wasn’t supposed to talk on the phone. I wouldn’t say much, but I’d say this qualified as an emergency. I needed to listen to him talk about his trip to Yosemite and wallow in nostalgia.

  I pulled into the barracks at noon—too early in the day for an elephant reunion, which was too bad, as my dad would have enjoyed hearing one. At the beginning of rutting season, he used to take me to hear the elks bugle. The first time I heard what it sounded like, I thought he was teasing me. I thought he had arranged for some of his band mates to stand in the woods with a bugle and play it in several different locations, just as I got close enough. I was a freshman in high school at the time, and my dad was full of pranks like that, so it wouldn’t have been too elaborate a stunt for him to have arranged.

  I stood on my porch and dialed his number. He picked up right away. “Hello? Catherine, is that you?”

  “Dad?” The tears welled up in my eyes again.

  “I can’t tell you how great it is to hear your voice.”

  Melting into the sound of his voice, I heard my own crack, halfway between tears of joy and tears of rage. “If that isn’t an understatement.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Got your postcard.”

  “Got you a job, you know. If you want it. Been playing Friday nights at a local jazz club and met someone from the park service working in Yosemite.”

  “Really?”

  “We stopped in to see him after we did Half Dome.”

  “That must have been nice.”

  “But, listen, I won’t keep you. I know you can’t be on long.”

  “You mentioned Ling-Ru?”

  “She got the job. She sounds good.”

  “That’s great to hear. Okay, Dad, just wanted to say hello.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, I’m great. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

  “Love you, Catherine.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  I hung up and cried as hard as I could remember crying. I had been too young to cry this hard when my mom died. And Dad had been there to soften the blow. With Sean’s death came an overwhelming sense of loss and hopelessness about myself and my future, and the shock of it had shut my system down. I hadn’t fully let myself grieve. Here, I was crying for the elephants and for the good guys that never seemed to win. It felt good to finally let it all out. I cried for Bernie, for Sianga, and for Nandi, which opened the door to self-pity and a sense of powerlessness while many angry male hands groped my body. And then I cried for the elephants again.

  It felt so good not to have a reason to stop myself this time. The pent-up guilt and feelings of overwhelming sadness were eating away at me. My dad’s voice helped me channel my anxiety, and it all came pouring out onto the porch and spilling out over the floodplain just as the first elephants arrived to scream and growl and rumble, buoying me to a safer place.

  Chapter 44

  Jon walked slowly up my stairs carrying a tiny cluster of wildflowers in his hand. We hadn’t seen each other since our confrontation in his office a week ago, and my heart melted at the sight of him holding that tiny bouquet, imagining him bending down in the bush somewhere, picking them out especially for me, probably knowing each of the flowers’ species name.

  But I had hardened over the past week, spending much of that time with Nandi, helping her through a slow and painful recovery, while at the same time, building my own resolve. I tried to purge myself of any feelings I had had for Jon, and made the mistake of talking to Craig about it. It was a stupid thing to do, but that’s how much I had lost perspective. I thought Craig would get it, but he sounded more concerned about ramifications and breaking his strict protocol than being understanding.

  “Didn’t want you to have to attend the funeral on your own,” Jon said gently, handing me the fragile bundle of minuscule flowers.

  I took the flowers with no emotion. I walked inside, filled the one glass that I owned with water, walked back onto the porch, plunked the flowers into the glass, and put it on the table. “Thanks for the flowers,” I said. “But I could think of better company,” I lied.

  Jon opened his arms in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said back at the office last week.”

  I certainly didn’t want to have to face the induna, his family, and Sianga’s casket alone. But I was still upset and didn’t trust Jon’s behavior, even though I couldn’t help being thrilled to see him.

  I had made several attempts in the previous two days to visit him on my way to the Dollar Store, but I aborted each attempt mid-approach. He needed to come to me. He was the one that needed to apologize. I couldn’t help being stubborn, even though I too felt I should apologize. But my job prevented me from doing so. I couldn’t tell him that the WIA hadn’t trusted him at some point in the investigation.

  When I got to the Dollar Store, I was told that Mr. Lin had just stepped out and wasn’t available. I was starting to suspect that he had decided to disappear. Or, worse, Craig’s queries at WIA in Hong Kong had been leaked to the Sun Kwon Muk and they made him disappear.

  I turned away. “Actually, I’ve been thinking more about it.” I walked the length of my porch. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was tired of guessing whether I was doing the right thing.

  I could see that he was looking at me curiously, hopefully.

  I turned and faced him. “Maybe you were right.” I paced again. “Maybe I am here for all the wrong reasons.”

  Jon interrupted my pacing and held my shoulders. “Catherine, you know I didn’t mean that.”

  I shrugged him off and kept walking. “But it doesn’t mean that what I’m doing is wrong.” I stood at the end of the porch, looked out at the floodplain, and watched two large groups of elephants approach the river. It was a hot day and they were early.

  Jon stood behind me. “Funny,” he said. “Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve grown quite fond of you.” He turned me around and looked me in the eye. “And I really wanted to tell you that.” He brushed my hair to one side, just as he had done that night on his houseboat, and I turned back to the elephants, not wanting to give in too easily.

  Jon stepped away from me. “Damn it, but then when I heard that you were operat
ing behind my back, I came unhinged. And when you walked into my office, I took one look at the beautiful woman standing in front of me and thought, who am I bloody kidding?” He stood right next to me and focused on the elephants spread across the floodplain. “How could I have ever thought that a woman like you could fall in love with a bloke like me?” He took my hand as we both stared forward. “I was so terrified by this realization that the thought of certain rejection made me lash out like a bloody buffoon.” He took me in his arms and whispered, “I know why you did what you did, and I’m bloody proud of you.” He kissed my forehead.

  I was so surprised by his openness, and wished that I, too, could make a confession. My ragged lungs filled with air as he searched my eyes. “I guess I started to care about what happens to you…and I’m worried.”

  We embraced for some time. Then we looked at each other and fell into a kiss—the kiss that I was beginning to think wasn’t meant to be. He pulled me back just as the built-up layers of armor were melting away into a vulnerability that felt right. “Would you stay away?”

  I stiffened. “You know I can’t do that.”

  Jon gave me another gentle kiss and took my hand. “It was worth a try. Now let’s go.”

  —

  Uniformed schoolchildren from the local Catholic mission stood proudly in a line, walking in a procession with pressed white shirts glaring in the sun, contrasting with dark shiny faces, earnest and purposeful. The girls wore blue-and-gray plaid skirts and the boys gray trousers and plaid ties. They sang in four-part harmony about going down to the river. “Oh oooh, down to the river we go, oh oh down to the river we go. We’ll find our Lord and make our peace…down to the river we go.”

  The children’s voices rose as they started to lead the crowd away. Having never been to a traditional funeral like this, I was struck by the beauty of these simple innocent voices creating such soulful music from the heart without any instruments. This must have been the song that the children at the mission were singing a few weeks ago—as if somehow they were preparing for this event. It must have been a different funeral. I just wished the music were about something else. About any other event but this one.

  My mind wandered to thoughts about Sianga and ended on his wide eyes as we approached the roadblock. The children sang about finding glory in nature. About God’s gifts and how grateful they were that he was shining down upon them on this sad day to remind them of his joy. I turned to Nandi and smiled sadly. Even though she had expected that she was getting involved in something dangerous, I knew she hadn’t anticipated her brother dying.

  I couldn’t help wondering how much more ivory had been illegally shipped to China in the time that I had been in the Caprivi. I was now more certain than ever of my resolve to stop the escalation of elephant deaths. I would work with the induna to finally make things right, whatever it took.

  The children led the procession past the Khuta, leading the community to the grave site and following the coffin carried by Nandi’s uncles. Jon and I and some of the rangers and game guards followed along at the end of the procession.

  When we got to the grave site, the induna’s wife and sister were dressed all in black, welcoming guests and accepting condolences. I was barely coping with being here, but having to face Lubinda wasn’t going to be easy.

  Of course she’d blame me. She had every right to think that what had happened was my fault.

  As I approached, Lubinda saw me and came forward, taking my hands.

  “I am so sorry,” I whispered quietly, trying not to break down. “I never should have involved Sianga in this.”

  Lubinda shook her head. “What is happening is wrong. He wanted to fight for this.” She gripped my hands tighter and then let them go. “I am certain that he was proud to be helping you.”

  I was overwhelmed by this gracious reception. I looked at her with grateful eyes welling up with fresh tears. Behind her, an impromptu procession of women lined up to shake my hand, starting with Nawa. They nodded their condolences as the children started to sing a more joyful song in the background.

  Behind the women, I could see Jon approaching the induna, with the rangers, game guards, and some of the other men gathered behind them. For once, it looked as if the government and the community were finally united in a cause.

  I walked over just as Jon shook the induna’s hand.

  The induna was shaking with anger. He had an interpreter next to him translating what he said. “You must put a stop to this, Mr. Baggs. Your ministry must help us. The witch doctor has been replaced by an even worse criminal.”

  Jon bowed his head. “I am terribly sorry. We are doing our level best.”

  The induna waved them away and beckoned me with a nod.

  I approached him clapping and bowing. “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am.”

  “Catherine, you must fly tonight,” the induna whispered to me without a translator. “The doctor is delivering a large shipment to Mr. Mazinga at a lodge in Maun. You will intercept it.”

  “Tonight? In the delta?”

  The induna nodded. “You can only tell three people of your plan: Jon, Gidean, and Natembo. I have arranged everything else.”

  I nodded. “Do you have the coordinates?”

  “Father Sebuku will give them to you before you leave.”

  I walked off and spent the rest of the funeral sitting with Nandi in silence, my mind a whirlwind of plans.

  Father Sebuku approached me with knowing eyes just before we left. He shook my hand. “When you first came to me wanting to work for the Red Cross, I started asking around about Red Cross activities in the region. I learned from some of our parishes in the region that there has been recent unusual activity between Angola, Zambia, Namibia, and Botswana. Then I understood why you asked.” He pressed a piece of folded-up paper into my hand. “Thank you for protecting God’s creatures.”

  I nodded and slipped the paper into my pocket.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  —

  On the drive back to Susuwe, I struggled with how to tell Jon of the induna’s plan and what we were scheduled to do that night. I could tell that the induna’s words had stung him, but I knew he’d be hurt even more that the induna had confided in me again instead of in him. I hoped he could look beyond that to the fact that we finally had the lead we needed to stop the bloodshed once and for all.

  “The MCD better bloody come up here and sort this out.”

  “Jon, I need to talk to you about that.”

  Jon looked at me suspiciously. “Yes?”

  I tried to be calm, but ended up blurting it all out. “Geldenhuis will fly from Angola to Botswana to avoid a bust in the Caprivi. This is his biggest shipment yet, Jon. And we’re going to nail him this time.”

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “The induna.”

  Jon shook his head. “How long have you known about this?”

  “He just told me.” I knew this would make him angry, so I kept talking. “Look, if we nail him in Botswana, we can get INTERPOL involved and make this an international crime.”

  “When?”

  I paused for a second and then took a breath. “Tonight.”

  Jon looked at me confused.

  “I’m flying you down. You, me, Gidean, and Natembo. No one else.”

  “Tonight? Are you mad?”

  “We can’t miss this chance.”

  “Are you out of your mind? We can’t set something up in Botswana that quickly.”

  I started talking faster. “The induna has the chief on board, and they’ve already got the Botswana Defense Force lined up. He wrote me this note.” I handed him the piece of paper that Father Sebuku had given me. “BDF is waiting for our move.”

  Jon stared at me incredulously. “We need to work this out properly.”

  “We’ve got to act now.” I hardened and looked him straight in the eye. “I won’t turn my back on this, Jon. I’m going. Now, are you in or not?”
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  Chapter 45

  The new-moon night accentuated the brightness of the Milky Way reflected in the black water as we flew low, following one of the main tributaries from the Kavango River that opened out into the immense delta. The large body of water looked like a star nursery—that’s how intensely bright and dense the star clusters reflected on the black, watery abyss even through night vision. The vast expanse of open water bifurcated into large veins that branched and branched again until we reached a network of tiny capillaries. At that point, we descended and headed for a small lodge where the pickup was planned.

  As I flew closer to the water, ripples scurried over a winding star-studded black channel lined with papyrus. According to my GPS, I was getting close, but it was impossible to see a lodge—just miles and miles of wetland. Jon scanned from the passenger side, and Gidean and Natembo looked down left and right from the backseat.

  Finally, Natembo saw what we were looking for. Tiki lights lining a runway just south of a tiny lodge on the southern tip of the delta. I tipped my wings as I flew over and prepared to land.

  After a bumpy landing, I turned the plane around and puttered toward the hangar. As the propeller wound down, Jon opened the passenger door. He took his headset off, hopped out, and pulled up the passenger seat to let Gidean and Natembo out of the plane.

  He smiled as he watched me unbuckle. “We’re going to win this time.”

  I smiled and nodded and got out as well.

  Two BDF soldiers appeared from the dark sporting AKs on their shoulders.

  Jon approached them. “Fan boats ready?”

  They nodded and took their place next to the airplane as planned.

  The Botswana Defense Force had been given fan boats by the United States and took great pride in blazing up and down the waterways, ruining the silence and drowning out the calls of the fish eagles. The hippos probably hated them the most. But the BDF had graciously offered their use for tonight, so we were grateful. Although not in the least stealthy, the fan boats were fast and designed for this environment—they could easily get deep into the tributaries.