“I thought you were more interested in what I was doing than in my safety. But the way it worked out, I can’t complain…”
He nodded. “Anyway, we’ve been investigating Rhino International, and there are a number of suspicious things about it. We can’t find out where they get their money. Most NGOs are happy to advertise their funding sources, but not Rhino International. Then there is Wood himself. Did he give you the story about the upper-class background and rebelling to become an ecological activist?”
Crys stopped in her tracks. “He did. Exactly that.”
Søren took her arm and moved on. “Well, we’ve looked into it. We can’t find any trace of that background—no public-school records, no wealthy Wood families with a son called Nigel. There are plenty of Nigel Woods to choose from, but none of them fit.”
“What are you saying?”
“I mean Nigel Wood’s background is fiction. He may have legitimate reasons for making up a new background, but what we see is that Rhino International has no obvious source of funding, and a director who isn’t who he says he is. That worries us—a lot. I think it should worry you too.”
It certainly did.
Then the reporter in Crys kicked in.
“You’d better come to my chalet,” she said.
* * *
They sat on the veranda of Crys’s bungalow, protected from insects by the fly screen. From time to time something large would be attracted by the light, bash into the net and bounce back into the night. An orchestra of cicadas played in the background.
Søren went through everything he knew about Nigel Wood and Rhino International. It wasn’t just the lack of transparency and Nigel’s fake background. There were things that couldn’t be explained—smugglers getting wind of enforcement operations and staff members with shadowy connections. Crys didn’t like the sound of it at all and was feeling very uncomfortable about how easily she’d accepted what Nigel had told her.
“But what’s the point of Rhino International, if it’s not legitimate?” she asked. “Just to find out what the anti-smuggling people are doing?”
Søren shook his head. “Smugglers don’t want legal trade any more than we do, because that would depress prices. If Rhino International is in league with the smugglers, its role would be to pressure CITES to keep it that way.”
“So, the good guys and the bad guys want the same thing?”
“As bizarre as it sounds, that’s right.”
Crys sighed in disbelief. But she had to admit that it did make sense.
“Crys, we need to think about some worst-case scenarios here,” Søren continued. “If Wood isn’t legitimate, what is he doing here? I can see him passing on the information you obtained to the South Africans, but why come himself? Frankly, I think the reaction here is too strong for the snatches you overheard. He’s presented some other evidence, and he got it very quickly. Too quickly, I would say.”
“You think he made it up?” She frowned. “If he did, that could be a disaster for Rhino International. If nothing happens tomorrow, he will look a total idiot.”
“Well, he could blame it on you.”
She bridled. “If he did, I’d go public with what I know. He’d still lose credibility.”
Søren said nothing for a few moments. Then he asked, “Suppose he wants everything focussed on Kruger, why is that? What could he gain?”
“Perhaps opportunity. The chance to do something else in South Africa while people’s attention is elsewhere. Maybe blow up rhino-horn stocks or something like that.” It made him sound like a mad environmentalist with a James Bond script. She shook her head. “No, that’s nonsense.”
“Or he could be planning a rhino-horn heist of his own…”
It all sounded totally farfetched to Crys. She frowned and folded her arms. “He’s had very little time to set up anything like that.”
Søren nodded. “Of course, we may be quite wrong. He may simply be desperate to stop the poachers getting a huge stock of horn and more resources, even if he has to invent some of the evidence. Maybe Rhino International is entirely aboveboard, and all the things they’ve been doing are part of a plan to infiltrate, to learn more. That could still be the answer.”
Crys shook her head. This was all too much—Søren spying on the Malans under the cover of rhino conservation; Nigel infiltrating the poachers. “But surely NGOs don’t behave like that!”
Søren sighed. “Let me give you some background on this business, Crys. From the inside…from my fifteen years as someone in the know.”
* * *
Crys didn’t sleep well, what with jet lag and her mind churning with all that was going on. Eventually, she couldn’t take tossing and turning any longer and got up, made some instant coffee, and went and sat on the porch. The air was crisp and the Milky Way spectacular. In any other circumstances, she would be in heaven. However, whatever was happening in Kruger was going down today; she didn’t know who to trust; and she was no closer to finding Michael. Instead, she was sitting at Tshukudu doing nothing.
Her head was full of what Søren had told her. They’d talked late into the night, and she’d learned a great deal about the politics of CITES and the associated NGOs, as well as about the rhino-horn underworld. She was astonished at the layers of intrigue around what seemed to be the straightforward missions of the NGOs: the jostling for influence, the backstabbing, the never-ending quest for funds, and even what verged on blackmail.
And apparently it wasn’t much different in the rhino-horn trade itself. Gangs fighting each other for ascendancy, groups trying to muscle into every aspect of the business, from the poaching, to the shipping, to the selling, to protection. Even the North Koreans were involved, with their embassies being engaged in the smuggling to obtain hard currency.
The major difference between the official and unofficial participants was that the unofficial ones didn’t hesitate to kill anyone that got in the way. She knew that was true. She’d come close to death at their hands three times in the past few weeks. And Michael? She forced her mind away from that thought and concentrated on Nigel.
If he wasn’t who he said he was, then who was he? And what was his real motivation? She had helped him without knowing either and now felt very uncomfortable about it. On the other hand, everything negative had come from Søren. The fact was that Nigel had managed to get the South African authorities to act to protect Kruger—a huge plus. And what was Søren doing here anyway? Was it coincidence or did he have some agenda of his own that he hadn’t shared with her?
She didn’t know which of the two NGO directors she could trust. If either.
Soon it was dawn—the Milky Way gradually faded as the sky turned pale and then brightened, and the air was filled with the sound of birds welcoming a new day.
She could barely wait to hear if there was any news, so, around seven, she headed to the main house for cereal and more coffee on the veranda. However, no one was about, so she made herself comfortable and tried to relax.
After a while, she heard a voice coming from one of the upstairs bedrooms that overlooked the veranda. She guessed the windows were open to catch the cool of the night. Suddenly, the voice got louder, and she realized it was Anton. She sat very still, straining to hear.
“That wasn’t the deal! You promised me the money in advance.” There was silence for a few seconds, and she realized Anton must be speaking to someone on the phone. “That’s not my problem! I have everything set up…”
Then his voice dropped, and she couldn’t make out what he was saying. It seemed odd to be having a business discussion at seven on a Sunday morning, but maybe his financial problems were even more urgent than Johannes had suggested. Crys shrugged it off.
A short while later, Johannes walked onto the veranda, greeted her, and helped himself to coffee. His face looked drawn. Crys hoped he wasn’t coming down wit
h malaria again.
“Have you heard anything from Kruger?” she asked.
“No. Nothing. And there’s nothing on the TV either.” He sat down opposite her. “And nobody has tried to get to our rhinos. I hope it’s all a hoax.”
Crys didn’t know what to think. Part of her hoped that nothing would happen—that it was all rumor and speculation, and that the rhinos would be safe, the horns stocks secure, but the journalist in her wanted to be at the center of a huge story, with good guys and bad guys, and conflict.
* * *
Søren came to breakfast around nine. He looked cheerful enough, but he didn’t say much. It was as though the discussion of the previous night had never happened. Crys decided he’d make a very good poker player. She was sure Johannes had no idea they knew each other before the previous evening. He ate some fruit and then excused himself, saying he had calls to make.
Anton didn’t show up for breakfast. Johannes said he wasn’t feeling well and would eat in his bedroom.
Then Johannes left to do some work, and Bongani was nowhere to be seen.
Crys was left alone.
She headed back to her chalet and tried to write but found it impossible—her mind was everywhere except on the story.
At lunch, Crys was the only one who showed up. Even Boku, once he’d taken her drink order, disappeared into the kitchen. It was an eerie feeling—as though she was being avoided.
She checked the TV, flipping through a number of channels, but there was nothing of interest, so she returned to the chalet and again tried to write, again without much success.
She wondered if Mabula had caught Pockface and found Michael. He’d promised to let her know, but that was a day ago. She tried to call him, but it went to voicemail. She couldn’t decide whether that was good news or bad.
Every hour or so, she went online and checked the South African news websites, the National Parks site, and even CNN and the BBC. There was absolutely nothing. Either nothing had happened or there was a stranglehold on information.
She went outside and kicked the ground in frustration.
Chapter 34
Everyone gathered for drinks and supper at around seven. It was a buffet because it was Sunday and the staff were off.
Anton appeared and without greeting anyone poured himself a brandy and Coke. Johannes and Søren had red wine, and Crys stuck to her usual orange juice. They helped themselves to food and then settled at the table.
Anton downed his drink and went to fetch another. He returned with the bottles. It seemed he intended to make a night of it.
“I tried to call Hennie in Kruger around lunch, but it just cut to voicemail,” Johannes said. “I asked him to call back if he had a chance. But I’ve heard nothing all day.”
“I spoke to Colonel Mabula this morning,” Søren commented. “He seems to be taking all this very seriously.”
“Only as long as there’s something in it for him,” Anton sneered. “They’re all the same—on the take.”
Crys wondered what Søren had talked to Mabula about but decided not to ask in front of the others. Had Michael featured in their conversation?
“You remember Mary, the rhino whose foot was caught in the snare?” Johannes asked her. “Her foot’s completely healed. I spotted her when I was working on the fences this morning and had a good look with my binocs.”
“Until the next poacher gets to her,” Anton said bitterly. He looked at Søren. “Thanks to you people. If you left us alone to farm our rhinos and sell the horn, they would be safe.”
“I’m sorry,” Søren responded, “but I have to disagree. That would just grow the demand for horn.”
“Yes, that’s your take on it. Meanwhile, we go broke.” Anton thumped his glass on the table. “You can come to the auction when we sell our rhinos to the highest bidder to be slaughtered.”
“Dad,” interjected Johannes quietly, “Mr. Willandsen is our guest. Everyone has the right to an opinion, even if we don’t agree with it.”
“That’s what you think, is it? Everyone has a right to an opinion, hey? Well, let them put their money on the table. Then I’ll listen to their opinions.”
At that moment the phone rang, and Johannes jumped up to answer it. The rest of them went on eating in an uncomfortable silence, anxious to hear if it was news from Kruger. Anton threw his cutlery on his unfinished plate, poured himself a brandy—no Coke this time –and tossed it down.
After a couple of minutes, Johannes came back. “That was Hennie. He says all the camps are locked down, the perimeters patrolled, and they’ve checked that all the tourists are safely inside. They found a few stragglers who’d been delayed by elephants and so on, but everyone’s accounted for now. If anything happens, they’re ready for it.”
Anton said something in Afrikaans and laughed loudly. He was well on his way to being very drunk. Johannes ignored him. Crys wondered if this was normal.
“It seems Wood warned them of a possible terror attack, Crys,” Johannes said to her. “They’re taking it very seriously. I hope…actually, I don’t know what I hope.”
Crys understood what he meant, yet she did want something to happen. She wanted the boss man and his thugs to be caught, no one hurt in Kruger, and, yes, a great story. But from what Søren had told her, she realized it wouldn’t make any difference. If the boss man’s cartel was gone, another group would take its place. Pretty soon it would be business as usual.
She looked round the table, wondering about the people sitting there.
Was Anton selling his horn on the black market to keep Tshukudu going?
If so, did Johannes know? And Søren? He had her followed in Vietnam to find out what she’d learned.
Why did he do that?
Then there was Nigel. He’d come across as totally dedicated—until he had the information he wanted. Then he’d dropped her. Now she had no idea what his real objective was. As for Mabula, she still didn’t know if she could trust him, or if his only interest was in getting his hands on the money. But he was Michael’s only chance. She felt the familiar ache in her chest.
“There’s ice cream in the freezer,” Johannes said, interrupting her reverie. “I’ll fetch it.”
Crys shook her head. “I think jet lag’s hitting me, and I want to check the internet in case anything’s happening. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Johannes offered.
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
She headed back to her chalet and immediately searched the internet, but again found nothing. She tried calling Nigel on the off chance he’d answer, but once again it went straight to voicemail in Geneva. She’d run out of options to get information; there was nothing she could do but wait.
She decided on an early night and set the alarm on her phone for five a.m. Hopefully, there would be some news by then if anything had happened during the night.
* * *
Crys woke suddenly. The room was in complete darkness, no hint of dawn yet. Her first thought was that jet lag was the culprit—making her wake in the dead of night, but she knew that was wrong. Something had definitely woken her.
Then she heard what sounded like raised voices some way off, followed by a sound like a door slamming.
She checked her watch. It was just after four a.m. She pulled back the curtains and saw lights on in the main house.
What could be happening at this time of night? she wondered.
She pulled on her clothes as quickly as she could, and as she did, she heard another shout. Now she was sure something wasn’t right. She turned off the lights and went to investigate.
As she walked toward the house, possible scenarios ran through her mind. Maybe Anton had drunk enough to end up fighting with Johannes? But at four in the morning? She stopped under a tree. T
his was probably none of her business; maybe she should go back to bed.
But something compelled her to keep going—the feeling that something was badly wrong.
She heard a noise behind her and swung round.
It was Søren.
“Thank heaven, it’s you,” she whispered. “You gave me a fright.”
“I heard noises up at the house,” he said softly. “And there are vehicles up there.”
She’d noticed that as well—there were two vehicles parked outside the house. They hadn’t been there when she’d walked back to her chalet after supper.
“Let’s take a look,” she said pressing on.
He didn’t follow immediately, but then he nodded. “Let’s see if we can spot anything from the outside. But be careful. Something isn’t right about this.”
So, he felt it, too.
“I’ll go to the left, and you go right,” she suggested. “We’ll meet on the other side of the house.”
He looked alarmed. “We’re not police—or the army.”
“What else can we do? If something bad is happening, we don’t want to just stumble in…”
He nodded but didn’t seem happy about it.
They moved quietly toward the house.
Crys pointed at the security lights and guided Søren out of their range. Even in the dark she could see the fear on his face. She wondered if hers showed the same.
They reached the two vehicles, and now they were close, they could see that they didn’t have the characteristic Tshukudu rhino logos. Were they visitors from a neighboring farm? Unlikely at four in the morning.
She swallowed and her adrenalin started to pump.
Then she moved round to the left side of the house and indicated Søren should go to the right.
When she reached the corner of the building, she could see light from the living room spilling into the garden; apparently the curtains had been left open. She crept around the corner, hugging the wall.
Shoot the Bastards Page 29
