“Unfinished?” Dulwich arched an eyebrow and shut the door, taking the cue.
“Xin Ha.” Knox looked between the two.
“No, no. At this point,” Dulwich cautioned, “you are—both of you—tangentially tied to Mr. Winston. What you’re thinking, Knox, is unacceptable.”
“What I’m thinking is nowhere near as sinister as what your deviant mind assumes.”
“While I appreciate the compliment, I recognize that look of yours, and I know you’re not planning on throwing the man a party, so let’s hear it.”
“He has to go. Grace, why don’t you tell him?”
She focused on Dulwich, her eyes glassy and yet dull, a befuddling combination. Knox wondered if Dulwich could see the damage done to her, as he could. He doubted it.
God, she could act, this woman. She could put on her Chinese airs of stoic complacency in a way that would do the eleven generations of Chus before her proud. But Knox saw into her now in a way he’d never done before.
To make matters more intriguing, he was fairly confident she knew it. And to add to his confusion, she wasn’t afraid to let him see. A first. Women were too fucking complicated.
When she spoke, softly as ever, she owned the room. Grace Chu was a marvel, Knox thought.
“It was Xin Ha who intercepted Mr. Winston’s shipment of the measles vaccine. This I can now prove. From Mr. Winston’s contacts in intelligence, we now also possess the satellite phone transmissions confirming an ongoing relationship between him and the man we knew as Guuleed, born Assim Guuleed to a Somali mother and Ugandan father in 1984.
“Whether we will be able to prove it or not, Xin Ha contracted Guuleed to steal the replacement vaccine from the Solio cattle operation. He then used partial proceeds from the sale of the measles vaccine—what he considered untraceable funds—to bribe Minister Achebe Nadali. Xin Ha wanted access to the ivory vaults. Nadali had other ideas. He crossed Xin Ha, removing the ivory ahead of schedule and hiding it here in Nairobi.
“It gets theoretical here. I am sorry, but there is little hard evidence from here. We can assume Xin Ha took care of Nadali, but not before torturing him for the location of the stolen ivory. Guuleed’s man Faaruq may have been involved. I would doubt we will ever know.”
“Along comes Samuelson, via Bertram Radcliffe. We all know how that turned out.”
“This is where Grace comes in,” Knox said. “She starts digging, so Xin Ha has Guuleed put her out to pasture. Enough with the staged poachings. Her death is supposed to look like a tragic tourist mistake, if she’s found at all.” He waited for someone to say something. No one did. “It all starts and stops with Xin Ha, who, by the way, just happens to control the export of poached ivory to China—one of the illegal trades Grace was sent to expose.”
“He also happens to have close ties to the very people we’re trying to convince to let you go!” Dulwich said, scarlet-faced.
“Sarge, easy. I’m just saying.”
“Saying what, exactly?”
“Bertram Radcliffe.”
Dulwich clearly couldn’t fit the pieces together. “Yeah?”
“We’d have to convince him to leave the country. If he stays, he’d be killed for sure.”
“Not following.”
“I have the paper trail. It is long and detailed and damning,” Grace said. “There’s no way Xin Ha survives it if it goes public.”
“No, no, no!” Dulwich said. “Those were obtained through illegal means and financed by one of the more powerful men in England. They would have to include intelligence records of electronic eavesdropping by—I can’t even tell you two who! People connect the dots. Companies like Rutherford Risk exist to keep those doors and windows shuttered.”
Grace looked to Knox. He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“WikiLeaks,” Grace said. “I can put so many layers on top of this that it will never be sourced.”
“We give Radcliffe a heads-up,” Knox said. “When and where it’s going to post on the Internet. He’s an award-winning journalist whose reporting will be taken seriously. He’s the first to see it, the first to publish. He avenges his friend’s death. Xin Ha goes down. If the government lets him escape, it’s a disgrace. If he goes to ground, he’s radioactive and won’t last long once Winston offers a reward. Nice and neat, the way you like it, Sarge.”
Dulwich’s blank stare was confounding. “WikiLeaks. Jesus.”
“Right?” Knox said.
“It is an exposé on the vaccine, corruption within the ministry and the financial link to poaching and terrorism, long suspected but never proved—all proven,” Grace said.
Dulwich spent a long minute considering the suggestion. “WikiLeaks,” he said again. “Graham will love it. He sends his thanks to you both—you, Grace, especially. Can’t contact you directly. You understand. He’s going to pledge the reward money to support Larger Than Life and community conservation. He hopes to help open a scaled-down version of the health clinic. It’s all good. He’s greatly impressed.”
Knox said, “Technically, we don’t need your permission. The WikiLeaks thing.”
“We are not asking you to condone such an action,” Grace said. “However, I for one do not wish for it to result in our severing relations. I do not wish to jeopardize my contract with Rutherford Risk.”
“You kidding? Brian Primer will pin a medal on you both, and you know it.” Dulwich said this to Knox. “He loves nefarious shit like this. End runs. Countermeasures. He’d be all over it.”
“But he’ll never hear about it,” Knox said. “I don’t mean to speak for you,” he said to Grace, “but I think that’s what Grace is asking.”
“I got it the first time, Knox.” Dulwich sighed. It was an intentional act, one to express disdain as well as admiration. “Fucking WikiLeaks.”
87
Knox and Grace shared an unceremonious farewell dinner in the British Embassy cafeteria, eating off of plastic trays and indestructible ceramic dishes carrying the stamp of the Monarchy. Grace had barely spoken for the past forty-eight hours, since the meeting with Dulwich. To his credit, Knox had not pushed.
He’d brought along a news story to share with her—nineteen people killed execution-style in six raids outside of Mogadishu. Al-Shabaab was claiming responsibility. In Dulwich’s handwriting, a note along the top: “M-I6 reporting all relatives of Assim Guuleed.” Knox felt it in his jacket pocket and crumpled it. What had he been thinking? She’d seen enough death.
“I have to know if we are going forward,” she said, “or if we are to stay here in this place—I do not mean physically; I mean mentally, emotionally.” Two days, and this was the first thing he’d heard her say. “Because if we are to remind one another of all that has happened, then what is the point, John? Maybe this is impossible to escape. Maybe we are bound to live the past, just as the boy and his sister, who may never escape hers.”
At Knox’s urging, Inspector Kanika Alkinyi had made some calls for him. There was a rumor in the sister’s town that a known pimp had come into some money. The sister had not been seen in several days. That was where the information began and ended. It seemed as if Bishoppe had invested wisely.
Either that, Knox thought, or he’d gotten himself and his sister killed.
“He deserved better than I gave him,” Knox said.
“You said he is resourceful.”
“Very.”
“So it is.”
“You know what I imagined, Grace? I imagined us adopting him. Of giving . . . of him . . . of adopting him.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. A moment of weakness.
“Us,” she said wistfully.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe we start there.”
Knox studied her face, the cosmetics barely covering the sun damage, chapped skin and abrasions. He nodded. “Yeah, maybe so.”
<
br /> “I poisoned two men for no reason.”
“They were Guuleed’s men. I have no doubt about that.”
“I did not have to kill them. That will never leave me. I . . . enjoyed it, John. I was not sorry then, I am not sorry now, but I must live with it all the same.”
“I faced one of Guuleed’s men at Ol Donyo.”
“Yes. You told me.”
“He’ll pick up where Guuleed left off, have no doubt of that.”
“We both changed the subject. You see, John. We must decide, here, now, if this continues. If either of us, if both of us, are to work with David again, and if so, together or separate. If together, it will not be like it has been, John. I wrote you the letter. You wrote to me as well. We have said things man to woman, woman to man. Not worker to worker. You understand?”
He felt his eyes smile. “My brother complicates everything.”
“You love your brother. Love complicates nothing.”
“It complicates everything, are you kidding me? Look at us!”
“I am,” said Grace. “Looking. At you. That is all that matters to me. All that is important. It is present.”
Knox swallowed. “It is.”
“So we stay in the present,” she said.
She smiled, making no attempt to cover her mouth.
88
Knox opened the door, found his brother watching television. He kneeled alongside the recliner, took Tommy in his arms and held him.
“I’m watching, Johno.”
“I’ve been gone for three weeks!”
“It’ll be over in seven minutes.”
“Seven. Okay.” Knox sat on the couch and watched his brother as his brother watched the television. The seven minutes felt like sixty. At last, Tommy shut off the television with the remote.
“How long are you back?”
“A long time, I hope. Longer, this time.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too. How’s it going?”
“I have a job, Johno. I have a job at the grocery store, and I’m good at it. I like it.”
“I’m so glad.”
“It’s not that I don’t like working with you, for the company. I do. But I like this better. I fill the bags. I talk to the customers. They like me.”
“I understand. It’s great.”
“Really? I thought you’d be mad.”
“I don’t get mad at you, Tommy. I love you, man. I mean it. Brothers, you know?”
Tommy looked at him curiously. Knox wasn’t sure Tommy would ever fully understand, and that hurt in a way he’d never be able to articulate.
“I have a surprise for you. I know you like surprises. You’re going to like this one. It’s different than any surprise ever. It won’t always be easy. It won’t always be perfect, but you’re going to like it.”
“A dog?”
Knox smiled. “Not hardly. But something like that.” He stood and walked over to the recliner. Put his foot onto the footrest and pushed it down, sitting Tommy up. It was a routine for them, something Tommy enjoyed.
“Do it again!” Tommy pleaded, sitting back.
“One more time,” Knox said, repeating the process. Then he offered Tommy his hand and helped him up.
He led him to the front door.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
HOW YOU CAN HELP
The fight—and it is a fight that includes sophisticated weaponry aimed at defenseless wild animals and rangers—continues. It does so only with contributions, big and small. I am pledging twenty percent of any royalties or film contracts to assist those “in the trenches” of Kenya, working to stop the poachers. I urge you to research those nonprofits and organizations dedicated to wildlife preservation. Sadly, not all efforts are equal. Some use funds to support more administration than boots on the ground. Others are doing stellar work in Kenyan communities, on reserves and in the rangeland, to protect and defend wildlife. Any amount of donation (no matter if you think it too small!) goes such a long way. “This is Africa.” Among those with which I had direct contact and can highly recommend:
African Wildlife Foundation (finances responsible nonprofits across Africa to preserve wildlife)
1400 16th Street, NW
Suite 120
Washington, DC 20036
USA
www.awf.org
Big Life (manages more than 250 armed private rangers in the bush)
Big Life Foundation USA
24010 NE Treehill Drive
Wood Village, OR 97060
USA
www.biglife.org
The Gorongosa Fund (supports conservation of Gorongosa National Park in Mozambique)
www.gorongosa.org
Northern Rangeland Trust (oversees rangers, community outreach)
Northern Rangeland Trust
Private Bag
Isiolo 60300
Kenya
www.nrt-kenya.org
Wildlife Direct (works within the court systems, doing some of the most important work in this effort)
WildlifeDirect Inc.
306 5th Street, SE
Washington, DC 20003
USA
www.wildlifedirect.org
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