Ivory Ghosts (22 page)

After a smooth landing at the Popa Falls airstrip, we'd inspected the damage and determined that we'd only have one day of delay while the holes were patched. The bullet holes were not as bad as we had anticipated, and fortunately none of them had penetrated the fuel tanks. We refueled, returned to camp, and showered. The temperature was dropping, so I was glad we were spending the night in cabins and not in tents.

After I put on crisp jeans and a sweatshirt, at least my body felt refreshed, even though I was still traumatized. And my stomach had finally settled down. The turbulence and sharp banking had made me feel incredibly nauseous. And being shot at didn't help. In hindsight, I should have taken two Dramamine instead of just the one I took when I woke up.

Our cellphones didn't work in this area, so Jon borrowed my satellite phone to call the MCD and the permanent secretary to report the border incident. The MCD would follow up with the army. I couldn't help but remain within earshot of these conversations, but I tried not to hover. He seemed not to mind my presence; in fact, I felt like he was encouraging me to be there, looking me in the eye and engaging me in the phone conversation.

Afterward, I couldn't get through to Craig, but I sent him a text message. The investigation was set in motion at least. That was some consolation for what we had just witnessed.

Jon quickly started the barbecue in front of our cabins and when the coals were ready, we all watched as he turned a rack of lamb sandwiched between two metal grids sitting over the bed of coals. He delicately squeezed lemon over the rosemary-smothered ribs. Natembo stirred briskly with a wooden spoon, while Gidean poured powdery
mealie
meal into boiling water in a three-legged pot. I watched their expert technique with great interest, as my pap always came out lumpy and grainy. It was supposed to have the consistency of mashed potatoes.

Though everyone else was in a somber mood, Jon was in rare form as he tended his barbecue. “This
braai
is going to be to die for, I promise you!”

“Good, I'm starving.” I smiled and carried on with my data entry.

Jon held up a
braai
tong. “
Je'sus
. I must confess, I didn't think we were going to make it. The grim reaper was showing his ugly face in my biltong bag.”

I shook my head. “That was a rough one.”

His eyes twinkled. “You stayed bloody cool up there.”

As he stared at me admiringly, I quickly changed the subject, so as not to be the focus of attention. “How many carcasses you think there were?” Seeing as I was distracted by having to dodge bullets, I hadn't been able to count.

“I counted seventeen,” said Gidean, continuing to pour meal into the pot as Natembo stirred.

“Bloody bastards.” Jon shook his head. “I promise you, somebody's taken control of Savimbi's old troops. They should have disbanded long ago.”

“Think the Chinese are active in Angola?” I asked, having read about a big ivory market in Luanda.

“I wouldn't doubt it.” Jon squeezed more lemon onto the rib, and it sizzled. “Perhaps their building contracts come with certain perks. On the other side of the border, the elephant has no rights.”

As I watched Jon turning the rack of ribs, I was enjoying the fact that I seemed to be on his good side again, despite the fact that we were both hiding something from the other. And the fact that we both seemed to be avoiding re-creating that electric moment we had had on his boat made me wonder all the more exactly what he was hiding, and what he knew about my involvement. Part of me was relieved that we hadn't gotten back to that space, but part of me yearned for a return to that intimate moment.

I tried not to pin all my hope on what the induna's son had to offer in terms of information, but I couldn't help wishing that he'd help us place Ernest at the scene of the murder. We'd be able to use that as additional ammunition to link Geldenhuis to the Zambian smuggling ring through his relationship to Ernest—a relationship established by the photos that I had taken.

“Oh, Catherine.” Jon pointed his
braai
tongs at me. “During my call to the permanent secretary, I didn't mention to you that he got through to the magistrate. He has decided to accept the photos as evidence after all.”

I stopped my data entry. “Really?” I was confused. Why hadn't he mentioned this earlier? “That's fantastic!” I paused, my mind a blur of memories of taking the photos, and also of Craig's warning about Jon. “What changed his mind?” I said guardedly.

“The additional photos that we submitted. Apparently, all we need is to have the photographer testify as to the authenticity of the photographs. Then we can proceed.”

I tried to keep a straight face. Was this a joke? Was he testing me? Or did he genuinely not know that I was responsible for the photographs? Or did he know that I was, and know that they could be thrown out and was trying to drag me into the case to shut me down.

“I'll speak to Craig when we get back to town, and we'll get it sorted,” Jon said.

“Oh, that's okay,” I chimed in a little too quickly. “I'll tell him about it.” All I could think about was getting on the phone with Craig and asking him to stall. But that might mean facing the probability of more dead elephants—a much bigger issue to contend with than my dilemma with Jon. I had to stay focused.

“I'll check in as well. This is going to be critical to the case.”

I nodded blankly, unable to think of something to deflect him, when Nigel suddenly showed up. I was so relieved to see him. I needed something to distract me from my confusion about Jon. Nigel was going to take Natembo's place for the community conservation area block counts on the Kavango side of the West Caprivi. He jumped in to help me, tallying count sheets while I entered the data on my laptop near the fire.

“Nigel, how's it?” Jon chortled cheerily. “I've been meaning to tell you my friend's impression of Mr. Lin's handiwork at the new teachers' college. He flew up the other day to inspect it. An absolute shocker. Not a single thing up to code.”

“Who's Mr. Lin?” I asked.

“The guy that owns the Dollar Store,” Jon replied. “He's a builder, too. His son-in-law—or his nephew, I can't keep track—” Jon waved his tongs in a circle. “Every time I turn my head around, they bud. Lin is like one giant fruiting body. I can't keep up with that family's expansion. Anyway, he's the new wholesaler,” Jon added, “another shocker.” He turned the lamb and continued, “There are more buckets to catch leaks than there is corrugated iron on the roof! You can't even think about the corruption. Hopeless.” He turned his rack of ribs delicately.

Nigel cleared his throat and lit a match to light his pipe. “They just got the contract for the Namibian embassy in Luanda.” Nigel inhaled and shook out his match.

“Yes”—Jon pointed his tongs at Nigel—“and you can be sure that whoever negotiated that contract will be going home with a diplomatic pouch stuffed with worked ivory from the market in Luanda.”

Nigel puffed on his pipe. “They're also buying up all the copper mines in Zambia.”

“The conditions are yet another absolute shocker.” Jon flipped the
braai
rack again. “It's bloody slavery all over again. Their workers are paid practically nothing and beaten when they don't work hard enough. Bloody hopeless.”

Gidean chimed in. “In Botswana, they won contracts to build roads, and they're not even hiring locals. They've brought in prisoners from China.”

We all shook our heads at the situation, but were buoyed by Jon's attentive cooking.

A little while later, Gidean turned to me. “We're going to stake out the induna's field just after the census. We're going to try to catch one of those problem bulls in the act. If you'd like to join us, you are welcome.”

“I thought they'd finished their harvest by now.”

“Apparently these bulls have been attacking the grain storage huts. Knocked one down just the other night.”

“Really?”

Nigel shook his head. “That community just can't get a break.”

“Probably no elephants will come while we are there, but at least you'll see how the farmers struggle with this problem.”

“Thank you, Gidean. I'd appreciate coming along.”

Gidean nodded just as a lion roared in the distance. We all fell silent. I took in a deep breath and yawned. The air was crisp now, and I could see my own breath as I exhaled. Winter had arrived.

Another lion roared in return, this one closer than the last, probably about two hundred meters from camp. It started as a pained moan that finished in an all-out bellow, followed by a series of roars that faded into choppy coughs. The sound of the coughs approached on the left as the calls of the other lion moved farther away toward the floodplain.

“There they go again,” Jon complained. “Always stealing my thunder.” He pulled the
braai
rack off the coals. “Just when I was about to announce that the rib is ready for consumption!”

I looked up at the three-quarter moon in the cloudless navy sky with pinpricks of stars, and, with the scent of lamb rib in the crisp air, I wanted to let myself feel a sensation that I hadn't felt in a long, long time—like I belonged again—like I was part of a team. The world seemed open and full of possibilities in that moment. I hadn't had that feeling since Sean died over a year before.

Yet, everything had changed after my last phone call with Craig. I just needed to bide my time with Jon as we waited for the plane to get fixed. I'd find a way to talk about the photos without giving myself away. Craig needed to do whatever he needed to do to figure out how to trust Jon again. I was so sure that I was right on this, but not having all the information, I had to trust that Craig knew what he was doing. He's all I had.

I was able to get in a couple of days' rest after the census, which was much needed since transect flying knocked me for a loop. I practically slept the entire first day away before I got back to data analysis. Craig had gone into radio silence. It'd been the longest time we were out of communication since I had arrived in the region and I was starting to worry. He said he was going to Lusaka, but he should have been back by now. Why wasn't he reachable by phone?

Everyone was pleased with the data and the estimates, despite the unexpected delays in getting back into the air. Upon closer inspection, the WIA plane had needed a major overhaul, so we had to have another plane flown up from Windhoek. That meant two days of waiting, and two more days of me putting distance between myself and Jon. It was extremely hard to do, as he was in such a good mood as we toured the Mahango Game Reserve, which teemed with elephants. But, I made sure we were never alone.

The census revealed that the elephant population was on the rise. The evidence of elephant poaching along the borders of Angola and Zambia was disturbing, yet out of Namibian jurisdiction. But the urgency of the situation put me on edge, and I had to believe that I wasn't the only one who wanted to get on with the investigation and put an end to the killing.

Gidean and Natembo picked me up at four o'clock in the afternoon, and we headed over to Induna Munali's cornfield to spend the night in his field. They were expecting an elephant visit that night, because a small group of bulls had spent the entire day browsing within a tree island along the floodplain close to the induna's farm. Apparently elephants often did this before sneaking into farms at night. And since it was a full moon, the elephants would be especially active.

As we entered the agricultural area across the floodplain from Susuwe, we could smell the smoky fires surrounding the grain huts at the edges of empty fields. A few remaining dried cornstalks and old tree stumps were scattered haphazardly across the barren space. Tree islands dotted the floodplain between farms, with the winding river and forest of the nature reserve in the distance.

The sun sat on the western horizon, turning the ribbons of water along the floodplain a dark pink, while an enormous full moon appeared on the other horizon. The tension felt as thick as the smoke, with drums pounding out threats and elephants roaring as they made their way from tree island to tree island, as if they knew they were about to enter a battlefield. It was man versus beast in an age-old war over food and land.

The women were singing along with the drumbeats—rhythmic and purposeful—as we settled into our post near the induna's reed-and-thatch storage house, where all the corn was placed after drying on the stalk. The small, round grain house at the edge of the field stood on stilts, apparently to protect from both mice and potential flooding. But while the corn dried after harvest there was nothing but smoke and drums to keep the elephants at bay. The women pounded the grain during the day, poured it into fifty-kilogram bags, and then carried it back to the village. The storehouses were a necessary in-between step in the process.

Laughter from some of the women broke the tension, and the induna's wife, Lubinda, and her sister, who introduced herself as Nawa, came over to greet us. I was hoping to see Nandi, but apparently she was in Katima for the night. The women offered us each a freshly roasted mealie, the last of the harvest. We gratefully accepted and listened to their stories of how three bulls had been trying to get into their grain house the past couple of nights. The older of the three was particularly troublesome and ignored the shotgun warnings when he approached the house. One of the farmers threw a flaming rag at him and he ran off, only to attack the grain house of a neighbor who wasn't there to protect it.

I focused on Gidean's translation and tried to imitate how the women ate by removing kernels of corn off the cob. They rubbed the cobs with their thumbs, and ate the kernels that fell into their palms, handful by handful. They enjoyed watching my novice attempts at something they did effortlessly.

The women said an early good night, as they needed to get back to their drumming posts. Lubinda said that she'd be back later. Gidean motioned for me to put my bedroll in the bed of the Land Cruiser while he threw his bedroll on the ground and built a small smoky fire nearby—a deterrent for both lions and elephants. Natembo had staked out a place for himself at the next grain house about a kilometer downriver.

As I unrolled my bedroll, I wondered how the night would pan out. “So, what happens if an elephant comes? Are you planning to shoot it?”

Gidean shook his head. “I've hardly ever encountered an elephant in a field. They are very smart animals. The smell of this vehicle might be enough, I don't know, but of all the times we've slept in fields, rarely have elephants shown up.”

“Really? But the raids seem to happen a lot.”

“I suspect that many of the times that it happens, the farmers are not here to chase them.”

“The women tell me that when they chase the elephants, the elephants charge them. We saw what happened to Moffit.”

“It is true. In this village, it is definitely true that the people are much better at defending their fields. That is why we came here. We want to help the farmers that are trying to help themselves.”

“And so, if one shows up?”

“We're hoping to scare it. The noise of a .458 rifle is much louder than a shotgun. The elephants know the difference.”

“And what if that doesn't work?”

“We have permission to shoot an elephant in this area. It might be time to do so.”

“Does that really do anything?”

“Once you get repeat offenders that get used to the taste of corn, it becomes a bad pattern. Especially if there's no trouble associated with the behavior. And most likely, the older bull has brought the two younger ones with him after having done this before by himself. It's only a matter of time that the younger bulls will enlist their friends.”

“How sad that it has to be that way.”

“And since the villagers are not allowed to kill an elephant, it seems only fair that we try to address a few of the problem elephants. And the people appreciate the meat as well.”

“I guess that would be a big bonus.”

I put a wool sweater on and crawled into my bedroll, not wanting to think about eating an elephant. The canvas of the bedroll was stiff from the cold, but it cut the draft that had just begun to bite at the air. I laid my head down on my pillow and looked up at the brilliant moon. The stars were dim because of the moonlight, but still visible all around, particularly near the deep blue horizon.

Just underneath the sound of the drumming, I could hear a cracking of branches in the distance. And then a bellow from a young bull. The elephants were on the move.

Suddenly, the noise of a shotgun firing twice in rapid succession broke the silence. An elephant bellowed. Another let out a piercing shriek as a cannon blast cracked open the night and echoed across the floodplain in the crisp air. That had to have been Natembo's .458. And the intervening silence had to have meant one dead elephant.

There were voices in the distance and then running, just as the drumming resumed. I sat up to see Gidean standing with his rifle at his side, leaning next to the grain house with the induna's wife, listening. He looked at me and put a hand up, not wanting me to leave the vehicle.

The urgent high-pitched clanking of pots arose all around as women yelled angrily in the direction that Natembo was stationed. Another shotgun rang out close by, followed by an elephant scream. He must have been hit, as he kept roaring, running in our direction, then crashing into the forest before he was close enough to view.

I could see Gidean tensing his thighs, bracing himself. There was nothing worse than contending with an elephant full of lead that knew it was in enemy territory. It would attack anything it could. Gidean was going to have to act quickly if the elephant came our way.

It was silent for so long that I decided there was enough time to make it safely into the cab so I could use the truck to back up Gidean if needed. Also, I knew I would be safer there. If the elephant decided to charge the truck, I was totally exposed in the truck bed and could get crushed under the bull bars if he rolled it. When I got into the cab, I reached for the key, but it wasn't in the ignition.

I looked up to see Gidean holding the keys out to me. But then there was a sound in the bush, and Gidean froze, holding his hand up for me to be quiet. Lubinda ran behind a tree.

Gidean and I watched the space between each other and the bush on the other side of the grain house. I noticed that it was not just a single noise now, and I assumed that everyone knew what was coming. All of us waited to see where the bull would charge.

It came out of nowhere, exactly as it had in my nightmare. A mountainous gray force materialized in front of Gidean and snatched him up in his trunk before Gidean even had time to lift his rifle. The wounded bull threw Gidean about twenty meters away. I sat frozen in place as the bull turned and ran back into the bush.

When the bull was gone, I called out to Gidean as I opened the cab door, got out and ran toward him.

“No, Catherine, no! Get the rifle!” Gidean gasped from the ground, not able to get up.

My head was spinning as I stopped midstep. Of course. The rifle. I needed to get the rifle.

I turned and ran toward the grain house to find Gidean's rifle lying on the ground next to the stilts. Where should I go? Would the elephant come again? Where would it come from? Should I go to Gidean? Stand near the truck and aim?

As soon as I picked up the rifle, I wished Natembo hadn't gone to another farm. It was me against a wounded elephant and I had to make a plan and commit to it. I thought of Sean in those final moments, and my mind was full of uncertainty. “Gidean, where should I go?”

“Stay right there!”

And sure enough, there it was again, the demon of my nightmares looking for his revenge. I had only seconds to compose myself, aim, and shoot. I could do this. I
had
to do this.

I got down on my knee and aimed just as I heard Natembo's voice calling to Gidean in the distance. He'd never get here in time. I aimed just below the honeycomb at the top of the skull, in between the eyes, just as Jon had taught me.

K
RUGER
N
ATIONAL
P
ARK,
S
OUTH
A
FRICA

I was kneeling down, revolver in both hands, frozen in place. Then I watched in horror as the buffalo crushed Sean's chest against the fence, lifted his blood-encrusted horns, and stared at me with wild eyes.

As I fired the pistol into his head and neck, the beast stood there, unmoved. His nostrils twitched. His ears flicked. And finally, he bellowed and ran off.

I ran to Sean. I knew he was dead, but I couldn't believe it until I cradled his crushed body in my arms. I closed his faraway eyes, that signature twinkle now gone.

As the giant raging beast bore down on me, I adjusted my aim and squeezed the trigger, feeling my ghost pass through me from back to front.

Though my body was perfectly positioned to absorb the shock, the blast knocked my shoulder so hard, I fell backward. The gray mountain was damaged but still in motion. I sat back up to take another shot, adrenaline raging through my body. I knew I had to do this.

I squeezed the trigger again and just as the behemoth fell, there was a second shot. The elephant collapsed just ten feet in front of me in a cloud of dust. The dust settled, revealing Natembo behind me with a rifle at his shoulder. He had me covered. But had he shot a moment sooner, my conscience would have felt cleaner. I had just killed an elephant.