Ivory Ghosts (2 page)

I pointed my gun at the lioness and continued walking backward through the thorny bush as fast as I could, badly scratching the backs of my legs. Where there was one lion, there was likely to be more. An ambush would be more difficult back on the road, out in the open. But it was hard to focus after seeing a person so horribly mutilated. Whoever had done this was a much more menacing threat than lions.

As I stood on the road, pointing my gun in every direction, the clacking of a diesel engine neared. A tan Toyota Land Cruiser approached from the rise where I had broken down. Although company would normally be most welcome in the presence of lions, I panicked and stood frozen in place. Were they the ones who had left tracks at this site? Could they have circled back somehow? Were they returning to burn the evidence? If so, they were about to pass my vehicle and would know there was a witness. Or perhaps they'd had nothing to do with it, and here I was standing at the crime scene with a gun in my hand.

The vegetation on the other side of the road looked lion-free, so I darted behind a bush, catching my new nylon shirt on a hooked thorn. I was momentarily stuck in place and needed to walk backward to get unstuck. The sudden silence in the distance indicated they had stopped at my vehicle to have a look. Though I was sure they'd see my footprints next to the road, I took another few steps into the bush and crouched down. I needed to see who was in the truck before exposing myself.

The truck resumed its journey, then slowed to a stop in front of me. Three local men in uniform stared at the scene from the cab. Their uniforms looked similar to the one I wore as a ranger in Kruger, except these were khaki instead of forest green.

They jumped out with semiautomatic rifles in hand—R1s by the looks of them. The driver, a San Bushman, focused on the ground and followed the drag marks into the bush as the larger man lifted the trunk lid and slammed it down. “
Kak,
man.” He swore in Afrikaans.

The man in the bush called the others over; I could hear mumbling in reaction to the gory scene before they came back onto the road. The third one reached for the radio above the passenger's seat.

“Katima five-one, Katima five-one, come in, Jon. We found target. Come in.”

The radio crackled.

“Katima five-one. Come in, Katima five-one.”

It was only a matter of time before the rangers would find me. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, I holstered my gun and stepped out of the bush. At the rustle of vegetation, the rangers spun around and aimed their weapons in my direction.

I held up my hands.
“Musuhili
,
”
I said, greeting the sullen faces with the local Lozi hello. My voice wavered. “I realize this is an incredibly awkward way to meet.”

The three men stared at me suspiciously as they lowered their weapons.

“The VW Bug?” The ranger that had called in on the radio looked at me knowingly.

I nodded. “My third flat.”

The larger man interrupted. “Did you see anyone on the road?”

I shook my head. “No.”

He turned to the others. “We need to get her out of here.”

The radio operator approached me. “I'm going to have to take you to the station. We are in the middle of a very serious investigation.”

“Of course.” I held out my hand. “I'm Catherine Sohon—with the Wildlife Investigation Agency. I'll actually be staying with you at the station.”

The three men glanced at one another.

The large man looked annoyed. “You cannot stay here.” He looked me up and down with contempt. “This place is not safe for a woman.”

I smiled nervously. “We can sort out the details later. I don't want to hold you up.”

The young San Bushman stared with the quiet sadness of someone who had seen more than he should have for his age. He seemed cowed by the larger, more aggressive man, who was shaking his finger at me.

“We don't have tourists staying with us.” He pointed toward the crime scene. “Can't you see? There must be a mistake.”

“Eli,” the radio operator whispered, as if to calm him down.

“I'm actually not a tourist. I'll be working with you to help with the elephant census. I'm a pilot.”

Eli spat. “A census pilot coming here?
Here,
to stay at Susuwe?” From his larger stature relative to the other two, I assumed he was an Owambo, from the north of Namibia.

“Look, that doesn't matter right now. I'd like to help if I can.”

The radio operator looked hesitant. I guessed he was Caprivian, given his fine facial features, the kind I had seen on an Angolan queen's mask in the cultural museum in Vic Falls. He crouched slightly, clapping one hand over the other in the local greeting. “Hello, madam. Gidean Siloka.” He shook my hand. “Has Mr. Jon Baggs arranged for your stay?”

“No, I will be meeting with him tomorrow. I was assigned the biologist barracks by the WIA.”

Gidean looked disquieted. “Oh, I see.”

“I don't want to get in the way. Perhaps I could man the radio while you continue the investigation? Get a message through to someone? I was a ranger in Kruger.”

Gidean responded, “That won't be necessary. I'll show you to your barracks.”

“No, she must speak with Mr. Jon Baggs before she can stay here,” Eli insisted.

“Eli,” said Gidean impatiently. It was clear that Gidean was used to having to manage this guy. “Jon is not answering the radio. We will at least put her up for the night.” He turned to me. “Is there anything you need from your vehicle?”

“If I could get my bedroll, that would be great. But I don't want to hold you up.”

“We only have one vehicle at the station,” Eli snapped.

“I'll be fine without it,” I lied. “And I'm happy to stay with you until you're ready to leave.”

Eli narrowed his eyes at Gidean, and they stepped away.

I turned to the Bushman and shook his hand, but could tell that shaking a woman's hand was not familiar to him. “I'm Catherine.”

“Natembo.” He nodded with faraway eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Natembo.” I smiled as we both listened to muffled arguing through clenched teeth as Gidean tried to placate Eli.

Gidean stepped back over. “Come, we will collect your things and go to the barracks.”

“Thank you.” I nodded a good-bye to the others and got into the truck.

Gidean started the truck. “I am very sorry you had to see this.”

The others continued to inspect the ground around the Mercedes as we turned around on the road and headed back to my car. “Looks like ivory had been removed from the trunk,” I said.

Gidean nodded. “I can assure you that this event is not common. And not something that happens here at the ranger station, inside the park. It is quite safe here, normally.”

I looked out the window and watched a fish eagle fly by, calling in a high-pitched cry. “Did you know these people?”

Gidean shook his head. “Small dealers from Zimbabwe, we think. They fit the profile of a group operating out of Vic Falls, in the Kasane.”

“Small dealers get murdered?”

“Not usually. But there's been a lot of fighting over the price of ivory. There are many more players because of the Chinese. A territorial battle has expanded over the border and ended here in the park.”

“Who's involved?”

“The Nigerians operating in Zimbabwe and a syndicate from Zambia.”

“Dealing in ivory?”

“They used to deal in less bulky stuff with higher value—drugs and diamonds—until the price of ivory went up.”

“Why was the brain taken out?”

“We suspect the Zambian witch doctor.”

Gidean turned to me and smiled, trying to lighten the conversation. “Where were you coming from?”

“Drove up from Kruger on Saturday.”

Gidean's eyes brightened. “Long trip!”

“Would have been better with a faster vehicle and air-conditioning.”

He laughed. “But you are not from South Africa. British?”

“I'm from the States.”

“What state?”

“California most recently.”

Gidean clucked his tongue. “Heard that is a very nice place.”

“It is. Not sure I'll go back, though. Wyoming's better, actually—more wildlife. That's where I grew up.”

“I understand Alaska is the only place to see wildlife in America.”

I smiled. “You have good sources. But that's not completely accurate.”

After getting my bedroll, and stuffing my backpack with a change of clothes, some toiletries, my mess kit, tea, peanut butter, and honey from the car, we returned to the road, passing the crime scene again. From the height of the vehicle, I could see the buffalo tracks more clearly. “Did they hit a buffalo?”

Gidean nodded.

“You think that's how the other vehicle caught up with them?”

“Big herds near the river here. If you go fast this time of day, you take your chances.”

“Could you tell how badly it was wounded?”

“Hard to tell.” Gidean shook his head. “We'll track it in the morning.”

We continued down the steep hill into a thick acacia forest, and up another rise and then back down onto a flat for about a mile before seeing another sign for Susuwe Ranger Station, this one held up by sun-bleached elephant femurs. Turning right, we drove along the base of a vast floodplain for some distance, passing several barracks before turning right into a short driveway.

We pulled up in front of a dilapidated camouflage-painted barracks and parked under a large ebony tree. The place looked worse than I'd expected. I kept telling myself that I'd wanted it rough, but maybe not this rough.

Craig had included a brief history of the region in the paperwork for my job description, detailing how Susuwe Ranger Station had apparently suffered the consequences of failed negotiations between Namibia and South Africa after Namibian independence. He was hoping this piece of information would change my mind about being stationed here. But the location inside the national park was much preferable to living in the nearest town, Katima Mulilo, or in one of the small rural villages. I preferred to be with the elephants rather than the feral dogs.

Gidean got out. “Come. I show you inside.”

“Oh, that's okay, really. I'm sure you have to get back.”

Gidean ignored me and led me up the stairs of the porch and into the abandoned building. I looked around the dank, empty rooms: musty smelling and wasp infested, with warped linoleum floors and sagging rotted counters. There were no appliances or furniture except a tiny stove in the kitchen and a sagging metal army cot in a bedroom. In the bathroom the tap dripped under a smashed mirror and the wall above the bathtub had been peppered with shotgun rounds.

Gidean pointed to the hole in the wall above the tub. “One of the Bushmen laborers had a fight with his wife.”

I grimaced. “Did she survive?”

“That time she did.” Gidean paused and then added, “Eventually he got her with an okapi knife for refusing to make his lunch.”

“Oh, dear.”

“At-at-at-at-at, the Bushman should stay away from the drink.”

I followed him out, sensing that I shouldn't probe deeper.

He stopped at the front door and showed me a small switch dangling from a wire. “There is one lightbulb in the kitchen. It runs off a solar panel on the roof,” he explained.

“Great.”

Outside I asked Gidean if I would be able to use the station's radio. “I really need to get a call into my boss in South Africa. Would it be possible to use the radio in the morning?”

Gidean shook his head. “Took it into Katima yesterday. Broken. And the antenna's down.”

“Really?”

“Should be fixed by next week.”

“And the radio in the truck?”

He shook his head. “Not a strong enough signal to reach South Africa.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, distracted with more questions. “Would someone be able to help get my tire off the rim tomorrow? One of my spares just has a small puncture. It should be fine with a patch. If I could borrow a set of tire irons, I could do it myself.”

“We'll take care of it for you, not a problem.”

“I really appreciate that.”

He smiled. “It's a pleasure.”

“And where can I find the shooting range?”

Gidean did a little double take.

“I'd like to get comfortable in this new environment.” I blurted this out quickly, based on his reaction, and then added, “To pull my own weight if necessary.”

“What you saw on the road will not be directed at us. It's not their style.”

“It's just that I haven't had the chance to use my revolver in some time and I'd like to practice.” I hesitated. “To deter lions, if nothing else.”

Gidean reluctantly pointed up and to the left. “There is a turnoff on the left, just before the place where we met.” He paused. “Only, we do not use that track since the rains. The thick mud is almost dry, but not yet.”

“I'll find it.”

“Best to take the wet-season road. Can I show you the way tomorrow?”

I realized that communications were more important than handling my gun at this point. “If we're able to fix my tire in the morning, maybe I'll head to Katima early to make some calls. How about day after tomorrow, after hours? Will you be free?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Please, call me Catherine.”

“Yes, Catherine.” He spoke carefully, struggling with the pronunciation of my name.

“And please keep me posted if you find anything out there tonight.”

“Will do. We'll bring your vehicle around in the morning.”

“Thanks so much. I'd really appreciate that. Of course, I'd be happy to help.”

“It's not a problem. Natembo can rim a tire faster than anyone.” Gidean bowed slightly before getting back into the truck.