by DV Berkom
Whatever it takes.
Chapter 24
The late afternoon sun cast elongated shadows across the pockmarked back road, bathing the surrounding terrain in a dusky hue. Leine lifted the hair off the nape of her neck and fanned the air. The weather had cooperated and no billowing clouds marked the horizon indicating an approaching storm, although the dampness from the heat and cloying humidity made it feel like she’d been caught in a downpour.
Derek turned onto a dirt track, driving past a metal sign printed with a machine gun surrounded by a red circle and a line drawn through it, and the words “Rafiki Conservation Center” stenciled above it.
“Alma and Hattie are friends of mine,” Derek explained. “We’ll be able to stay here for the night in proper beds.”
“And just how did a poacher become friends with a pair of conservationists?” Leine asked.
Derek shrugged. “I used to bring them the babies.”
She didn’t ask him to elaborate.
They continued along the dirt driveway, through cooling shade cast by a thick canopy of trees crowding the roadside—a welcome relief from the incessant sun. Derek maneuvered the Rover around rain-soaked potholes, missing the worst of them.
At last, they broke through the trees and came upon three, one-story thatched-roof buildings. Derek parked in the dirt lot and they followed a wooden walkway over a small stream and entered the largest of the structures.
Once inside, Leine’s eyes adjusted to the cool, dark interior, allowing her to study the space. One side of the spacious room held a desk on top of which sat a large calendar filled with handwritten notes. A long couch, low table, and two chairs created an intimate seating area on the opposite side, while the back of the structure was open to the outdoors. There didn’t appear to be anyone around.
Derek walked over to the desk and glanced at the blotter.
“Looks like it’s feeding time,” he said. “Shall we?”
Leine followed him through the open doorway at the back of the building and down a narrow, wood-chip path toward a paddock situated at the bottom of a hill. The acacia-trunk fencing surrounding the corral was at least twelve feet high and reinforced with chain link. Two women, one with gray hair pulled back in a bun, the other with dark, shoulder-length hair, stood beneath a roofed enclosure feeding a half dozen lion cubs. In the distance, near a group of trees, an elephant trumpeted.
Derek continued around to one of two gates and opened it.
“After you,” he said.
The woman with the gray hair glanced up from the cub she was feeding and shaded her eyes as Derek and Leine walked inside the paddock.
“Don’t forget to close the gate,” she said and rose to her feet, dusting off her khakis.
As they neared the group, a curious cub broke away from the dark-haired woman and bounded over to check them out. Leine bent down and held out her hand, which the cub immediately rubbed with its head. A quiet rumble emanated from its chest. She scratched the little feline behind the ears and the vibration grew louder.
“It’s best if you don’t interact with them too much. We don’t want them to become habituated to humans,” the older woman said. Leine stopped petting the small feline and straightened.
“Alma, this is Claire.”
Alma wiped both hands on her shirt, and, smiling, extended her right, which Leine shook.
“It’s good to meet you, Claire,” she said.
“Alma’s the founding member of the Center.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Leine said.
“And the ugly one over there is Hattie,” Derek said with a grin. The younger, dark-haired woman gave him a look that said she thought Derek was about as funny as a heart attack and extended her hand.
“You must be a special friend. Derek doesn’t usually bring anyone to the Center.” Hattie gave him a mischievous look.
“Colleague, Hattie. Get your mind out of the gutter,” Derek chided her.
Hattie was younger than Alma by at least three decades and had lovely brown eyes, a slender physique, and delicate features. Leine studied Derek for signs he was interested in the stunner, but all she got was a sibling vibe from both of them.
“So, what brings you here, Derek? Have any more babies for me?” Alma asked, peering past him.
Devoid of makeup, Alma’s complexion spoke of years of sunsets and the wear and tear that accompanies them. She wore faded khakis with a worn chambray shirt over a red tee with the Center’s logo in white. Her leather hiking boots were one shoelace short of total disintegration.
“No, no babies. I told you I’m done with that.”
Alma’s face lit up. “You mean you actually meant it? Hallelujah.” She clapped her hands. “When are you going to come and work with us, Mr. Hunter Man? We could really use your expertise tracking down the orphans.”
Hattie leaned toward Leine to explain. “Most of the time when the poachers kill the families, they try to catch the babies to sell them to breeders or on the black market. Every now and again they escape and have no way to fend for themselves.” Hattie nodded toward Derek. “That’s when someone like him would come in handy. He could bring them back here where we care for them until they’re old enough to be reintroduced to the wild.” She paused. “Unless they’re too young, or maimed in some way. Then we keep them here so they can live out the rest of their lives.”
“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you, Derek?” Leine smiled at the former poacher’s discomfort.
“Ja, ja. Whatever,” Derek said, scanning beyond the enclosure. “Where’s Zara?”
Alma’s mouth set in a firm line.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?” Derek cocked his head. “What do you mean, gone? I thought this was her life.”
“They came more than a month ago,” Hattie interjected, giving Alma a nervous look.
Derek stilled. “Who’s they?” he asked, his gaze cutting from the older woman to Hattie.
Leine sensed Derek’s rising anger and wondered what kind of relationship he had with Zara. Alma sighed, worry lines etching her face.
“Assad and his men came by again. I ordered them off the property, but of course they refused. They made themselves at home, eating our food, drinking our beer, shooting off their wretched guns. Zara ran herself ragged trying to calm the babies.” She shook her head and held Derek’s gaze, her eyes moist. “The next morning they’d gone, along with several of our lion cubs. We haven’t heard from Zara since. I can only surmise they took her with them.”
A muscle throbbed near Derek’s clenched jaw. “Why didn’t you contact me? There are things I can do, people I can talk to.”
Alma nodded at the pair of curious cubs play fighting near her feet. “We’d just gotten these sweet babies and one of them had been sick, which took all the money we had in reserve. No money, no way to push Zara’s case to the front of the line. Besides, I contacted the police and they did a cursory investigation. The gunmen left a message two days later.” Unable to hold the tears at bay, Alma wiped at her cheeks, concentrating on the cubs.
Hattie took up the narrative, stormy emotions playing across her face. “They killed the sick cub and left a note next to its body warning us to leave Zara’s disappearance alone or more deaths would follow.” Hattie wrapped her arm around Alma’s shoulders in a protective gesture. “Zara’s a huge loss to us personally and to the Center, but we can’t risk making them angry or they’ll destroy everything we’ve worked for. Zara wouldn’t want that.”
His body clearly spring loaded, Derek paced the paddock. The lion cubs tumbled over themselves, trying to keep up with his feet.
“I know how you feel about Zara, Derek, but you need to be careful,” Alma warned. “These are not your usual militants. They have equipment like I’ve never seen in these parts. The DRC, sure. But here? Machine guns, shiny new side arms, brand-new four-wheel-drive vehicles. Even their uniforms match.”
“Why are they here?” Leine asked. “Is
there some kind of rebellion going on?”
“I haven’t heard of any unrest.” Alma shook her head. “Most folks are content with the government.”
“Then it’s even more important that we find the assholes.” Derek stopped pacing. “Zara would want that.”
Chapter 25
Dinner with Alma and Hattie consisted of coconut bean soup, a salad of greens and tomatoes, and ugali, a kind of dough made from cornmeal. Afterward, Alma built a fire outside of the guest building where they gathered to share a drink.
Against the backdrop of impossibly brilliant stars, the maniacal laughter of hyenas, and the occasional roar of a lion, they drank lukewarm beer and shared stories. Alma and Hattie entertained them with tales of successfully reintroducing into the wild several of the animals they’d cared for through the years, of working to make the center self-sustaining by using wind power and installing solar panels, and growing their own produce, which they traded for other necessities like batteries and beer.
Leine spoke of her fascination with Tanzania’s wildlife, and of the near-miss with the pair of lions earlier that day. That brought on several stories of close encounters by the other three, each citing instances of what they assumed would be certain death but having something happen to save them in the nick of time. Derek swore by always having a six-pack of beer at the ready.
“One time, I was alone in the bush taking a piss and a lioness got a little too interested. My rifle was too far away to grab and all I had with me was a beer. So I shook it up real good and let it fly.” He laughed. “She didn’t like the spinning bottle, or the fizzy stuff that came out of it. Diverted her attention just long enough for me to go for my gun.”
“African Karma,” Alma said with a knowing look. “If you’re lucky enough to get out of that kind of situation alive it means you owe something.”
“To whom?” Leine asked.
“Ooh, she’s talking about the African spirits.” Hattie wiggled her fingers in the air and made a face, smiling as she did.
“Don’t you go dissing what you don’t understand, Miss Hattie,” Alma said, wagging her finger at the younger woman. “I’ve been living on this dark continent for a lot longer than you have and can’t begin to explain some of the goings-on around here.”
Hattie rolled her eyes and smiled affectionately at her mentor. “You keep telling me that, but I have yet to experience what you’re talking about.”
“Be glad, missy. You don’t want to be beholden to any spirits down here. They tend to go overboard in their demands.”
Eventually, talk turned to poaching and Leine and Derek described their encounter with the massacred elephants. Alma nodded, the lines around her eyes deepening.
“The official number’s over ten thousand elephants killed each year in Tanzania alone, but I’m certain it’s more than that. Illegal kills have risen to sixty-five percent of the population across Africa. At this rate, experts predict extinction within our lifetime. Maybe within the decade.”
“Economics are driving things again,” Hattie added.
“What do you mean, again?” Leine asked.
“Poaching was a huge problem back in the seventies and eighties,” Alma replied. “Supply far exceeded demand. We fought hard to save what was left, even enjoyed a twenty-year lull. But now things are ramping up again due to the rise of an elite economic market, the newly rich.” She let out a heavy sigh. “We’ll fight this one, too.”
“It’s not all doom, though. There are a couple of bright spots,” Hattie said. “There’s a push to educate wildlife rangers in the hardest hit areas, which appears to be helping. And a group of scientists and conservationists are using drones with night vision capabilities to track both poachers and elephants.”
“What about the legal or educational side of the equation?” Leine asked. “Reduce demand by strengthening laws against buying ivory and educate people on the cost of doing business as usual. Supplying the ivory won’t be as attractive.”
“For what it’s worth, the Chinese have begun a re-education campaign, but it’s not enough. Pardon my pun, but the punishment for buying non-certified ivory has no teeth.” Derek shook his head. “Look at Wang. The big smugglers will figure out how to slip illegal ivory through, especially with the amount it’s worth now. There’s always someone who’s willing to look the other way for a price. Believe me, I know.”
“It goes much deeper than just supply and demand, Claire,” Alma added. “What we need are more living-wage jobs. Eradicate the crushing poverty of the Tanzanian people and I guarantee the number of poachers will decline.” Alma leaned back in her chair. “Most people will do anything to feed their family. I can’t blame them.”
“But how do you explain the massacre we saw today?” Leine asked. “Dozens of elephants were slaughtered with automatic weapons. That’s a huge amount of ivory being moved for someone who only wants to feed his family. This looked like a concerted effort by a well-armed group of people. Efficient and ruthless.”
Alma and Derek exchanged looks.
“There’ve been rumors that terrorists have moved into the region and are slaughtering the elephants. They sell the ivory to fund their jihad,” she said. “Could be one reason we’re seeing more militant activity. Where there’s money…”
“If that’s the case, Africa’s fucked.” Derek folded his arms, eyes blazing with anger.
“Don’t be such a nihilist, Derek,” Alma scolded. “The possibility isn’t good, obviously, but if the Chinese take the rumors seriously, they just might do something about it. They don’t want to lose ‘their’ ivory to a pack of terrorists.”
“Knowing Wang, I’m certain he’d figure out a way do business with them,” Derek muttered.
“As long as people are starving, there will always be a black market. At least we can try.” Alma focused her attention on Derek. “Now it’s your turn. What are you two doing here? And don’t tell me you’re on holiday and you wanted to take Claire on safari.”
Derek shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. Leine answered the older woman.
“I’m looking for someone’s daughter, and Derek has agreed to help me find her.”
Alma shifted her glance from Derek to Leine. “And you’ve tracked her here?” she asked.
“We’re pretty sure she was sold to a man named Victor Wang to work in his camp.”
Hattie frowned. “Wang is not someone you want to deal with, believe me.”
“You know him?” Leine asked.
“Oh, yeah. We know him.” Hattie sat back and crossed her arms. “He’s supposedly starting up a rehabilitation center. Right.”
“Wang’s never helped anything or anybody other than Wang,” Alma added. “He has a few key politicians in his pocket and can push through most anything he wants, including killing endangered species with impunity. It’s why his place is known as Camp Kill.”
“He stole our grant.” Hattie spat out the words.
Derek raised his eyebrows. “The one from SWI?”
Alma nodded. “That’s the one.”
Derek turned to Leine. “Save Wildlife International is a huge umbrella non-profit dedicated to preserving wildlife around the globe. If Wang was able to detour the grant promised to Rafiki, then he has more pull than I thought.”
“More like his friend does. He’s the head of their African division.” Alma shrugged. “We don’t have the resources to fight him.”
Hattie added, “We don’t have the resources, period.”
“All this talk of Wang and his shady business practices has made me tired.” Alma stood up and rubbed her back. “It’s well past my bedtime, ladies and gentleman. Hattie will show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight.” She pulled her wrap closer and gave Derek a wistful smile. “Think about what I said, Derek. We could use your expertise here at Rafiki.”
She turned to Leine and bowed, her hands in prayer pose. “I wish you peaceful dreams, Claire. Thank you for being here.” With that, she
walked toward the larger building, the inky darkness swallowing her whole.
***
Leine asked to borrow the Center’s sat phone and walked out to the Rover for some privacy. It was close to noon Santa’s time, and she hadn’t contacted the homicide detective since she’d sent the message from the cyber café in Dar. The events of the day produced a powerful need to check in with him.
“Jesus, Leine, where the hell are you?” Santa’s tone wasn’t what she would call happy. In fact, he sounded angrier than the time she called him after being shot in Tijuana.
“Shh, Santa. Everything’s fine. I’m fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Leine tamped down the emotion rising in her chest. Between the lack of a good night’s sleep and the scene with the slaughtered elephants, not to mention almost being lunch for a couple of lions, she was emotionally and physically drained.
Santa’s tone changed to one of concern. “Are you all right? You don’t sound so great.”
Leine smiled. Leave it to Santa to switch from raging bull to mother hen in an instant. Living with someone able to change direction on a dime was disconcerting to be sure, but never boring.
“Like I said, everything’s fine. I’ll talk to you about it all when I get back.”
“Lou told me you found Kylie and you’re going after some triad’s business.”
Great. Thanks, Lou.
“Victor Wang. Apparently he supplies women to clients at an illegal hunting camp he owns here in Tanzania. We’re close.”
“We’re close? Who’s with you?”
“A former poacher named Derek who crossed Wang. Wang was transporting him on the same ship and was going to sell him to the highest bidder.”
“A poacher? Nice. You couldn’t leave the guy to his fate?”
“Not really. It’s a long story. Let’s just say we needed each other to escape. He’s been useful—he knows the area, and Wang, well.”
“Watch him, Leine. Poachers aren’t normally what you’d call trustworthy.”
“You know, I wasn’t aware of that. Could you enlighten me further, oh wise one?” Leine tried to keep herself from laughing but failed miserably.
