Читать книгу Killing Godiva's Horse - J. M. Mitchell - Страница 16

In the dark of night, KLM Flight 9964 circled on approach to Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Staring out the window, Jack Chastain saw the lights of a vast and variable cityscape. Nairobi.

So this is Kenya?

The jet landed and taxied to the terminal.

Upon disembarking, in cargo pants and tan cotton shirt, he walked the concourse, made it through immigration with little inconvenience, strolled to baggage claim, then customs, then past the last of security. Near the exit, he stepped around other travelers —many in clothing suggesting imminent safaris—and began looking for signs of someone or something there to collect him. What will it be? A placard? He saw none. He scanned the concourse, then noticed a slender, graying, somewhat crusty looking African man, a scar on his chin, wearing a camo uniform and brown beret. Jack veered toward him. “Here for an American?”

“Indeed, I am, sir.”

Jack extended a hand. “Jack Chastain, U.S. National Park Service.”

The man shook the hand, uttering something, followed by what might have been, “. . . Senior Warden, Kenya Wildlife Service.”

Accent. Almost British, but . . . “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the name. My ear’s not yet adjusted to . . . .”

“I understand,” the man said, his bearing disciplined, almost military. “My name, Mr. Jack, is Samuel Leboo.”

He let the pronunciations rattle around his brain a moment. “Good to meet you, Samuel. Sorry I took a late flight.”

“There is no problem. Day or night, I work them all.” He glanced at Jack’s bags. “Your luggage? Has it arrived?”

“This is all I have.”

“You travel light.”

“Spur of the moment. I might pick up a few things later, unless you’re taking me to the middle of nowhere. In that case, it’d be good to buy a few clothes.”

“You will not be in the middle of nowhere. You are in the only capital in the world that is also a wildlife reserve. If you need, I can provide clothing items. I can dress you like a ranger.”

“I’m accustomed to that.”

“You’re tall, but not as tall as Maasai. If I can find trousers for them, I can find trousers for you.”

“I’ll try not to need them.”

“Follow me.”

They exited the terminal, into hot night air. Leboo led him past lines of vehicles picking up passengers for various accommodations, some advertising safaris. Crossing the road, a strangely striped vehicle whizzed past, swerving to miss them.

“If I’m killed by a zebra, please let it be a real one,” Jack grumbled.

In the dimly lit parking area, Samuel found his vehicle, a dark Toyota Land Cruiser with agency markings. He opened the left side door and waved Jack over.

Jack came around, and stared inside. No steering wheel. Passenger side. He threw in his duffle and climbed in.

Samuel circled to the driver’s side, climbed in, started the Land Cruiser, and backed out of the parking space. “Mr. Jack,” he said, glancing toward the exit. “How long will you be with us?”

“Two, three weeks. As long as you need me. If we could wrap this up in a couple of days, that’d be okay, too.”

“You did not wish to come to Kenya?”

“Uh, . . .” Jack felt Leboo studying his face. “Always wanted to, but . . . it’s just . . . I have other things that need to be finished.” He turned to the window. “But that’s irrelevant. I’m here. My time is yours.”

“I see.” Samuel gave a slow nod and accelerated onto the road. “How much do you know about Kenya?”

“Not much, really.” He gripped the armrest as Samuel steered onto the left side of the road. “Learned I was coming only yesterday. Or maybe it was today. I’m . . . uh . . . little turned around about what day it is. I did some reading on the flight, but my options for study were limited.”

“Not to worry. I can provide materials.” Eyes on the road, he seemed settled in for the drive. “Kenya Wildlife Service manages national parks and wildlife reserves. People come from around the world to safari in Kenya. This is Africa as the world imagines it to be. Our wildlife are our heritage. To preserve that heritage, our rangers carry AK-47s and AK-103s. Do you know why?”

“Poachers?”

He gave a slow nod, then pulled into traffic, seemingly ignoring the others on the road. “Yes. Do you know what they poach?”

Eyes straight ahead, watching darting cars, Jack said, “Elephant?”

“Yes. Big game animals. Especially elephant and rhinoceros. Do you know why?”

Jack braced himself against the dashboard. “Elephant for ivory, rhino for horns?”

“Correct, and do you know who does the poaching?”

“Not really. Not something I understand very well.”

“Maybe it’s not important that you do. You are a scientist, not someone hired to stop poaching . . . but unfortunately our rangers are. They must carry automatic weapons to do their job. And to survive.”

Cars screamed past, horns blaring.

“Scientist . . . true,” Jack responded. “But we, too, have law enforcement rangers.” He put a hand on the dashboard. “Is traffic always like this?”

“No. During the day it is very busy.” Leboo turned into a roundabout, steering across the lane. Horns blasted behind him. “Do your law enforcement rangers carry AK-47s?” He turned onto another road, this one just as busy.

“Well . . . some train with automatic or semiautomatic weapons—I’m not exactly sure which—but most carry hand guns. Pistols.”

“Here, carrying a pistol would simply make you a target.”

“Is there a reason we’re discussing this? Did you need someone proficient in automatic weapons? If so, they sent the wrong guy. Send me back . . . ask for a different skill set.”

“I do not presume to know what proficiencies you should have as a scientist. I simply want you to understand the risks we face.”

“I’m not sure what difference this makes, but I’m only here because two days ago I was staring down the barrel of an automatic weapon. Several actually. But as you say, I’m a scientist, not someone who carries one. So, why am I here, Samuel?”

Samuel took his eyes off the road. “This incident . . . were you in danger?”

“I suppose. Felt like it. Could’ve been posturing. Not something that happens every day.”

“For our rangers, being ready every day is something to which they’re accustomed. You are here because a week ago, two of our rangers were killed by rhinoceros poachers. One, a biodiversity ranger.”

“A scientist?”

“Yes. An accomplished one. He had recently finished his Ph.D., and returned to Kenya because this is where he wanted to be. He did not want to work at university or in the science office. He wanted to be in the bush.”

“That, I can understand. Where’d he do his studies?”

“Oxford.”

“England?”

“Is there another?”

Jack laughed at himself. “Why turn to us? Why not Oxford?”

Samuel sighed and fixed his eyes on the road.

Jack tried to read him. “Why not Oxford, Samuel?”

“I did contact Oxford. They are in shock. They knew Gabriel quite well. They knew how much he longed to return to Kenya. The news of his death was difficult for them, and . . . they don’t want professors or students put at risk.”

“I see. So, . . . the Americans . . . it’s the Wild West over there. Go get one of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Americans like playing with guns.”

“No. It was not that at all.” He swerved around a vehicle, then back into the lane.

Jack bounced against the door. “Then, why us, and why the urgency? Why not wait? Or find another university, maybe here in Nairobi?

Samuel’s face turned stone. Not even a flinch.

“Simple questions, Samuel.” Jack gave him a moment, then, “Never mind. Sorry to pry.”

“My usual avenues for seeking collaboration and support were closed. By the Ministry.” He flashed a subtle smile. “But, I have connections. Here and there, people with appropriate levels of influence. My connections put me on a path to your International Affairs Office.”

“Okay, but why the urgency?”

Samuel drew in a long, slow breath. “Some in the Ministry think Gabriel’s research should be ended. I and my connections believe that would be a mistake. We must continue Gabriel’s research. We must not let them push us aside.”

“I don’t understand. Why would the ministry not support it?”

“Discomfort. Lack of political will. The prospect that Gabriel’s research would yield inconvenient findings.” Samuel turned and seemed to study Jack’s face.

“Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m a scientist. Always big on research.” He raised a brow and smiled. “Tell me about his work.”

“Multi-faceted. Some of it similar to what I’m told your agency calls, vital signs.”

“Indicator species and systems?”

“Precisely. But the more controversial aspect of the work focused on habitat fragmentation. The relationships between intensity of human activity and the health and viability of wildlife habitat and populations. Wildlife corridors, and eventually, through collaboration, ecological economies.”

“Tough nuts to crack,” Jack said. “Is that why he was killed?”

“I do not believe so. I believe it simply an unfortunate encounter with a poacher.”

“But you’re not absolutely certain.”

“Not entirely. The investigation continues.”

“When will they know?”

“There is no they. It is I conducting the investigation.”

“I see. Back to Gabriel’s work. The things he focused on. They take time. There are no quick, easy answers, and I can’t be here forever.”

Samuel appeared to consider the words. “There is seasonal migration of wildlife into and out of Nairobi National Park, even as it exists on the edge of Nairobi. Fences surround the park to the north, west, and east, but not to the south. Not entirely. But Maasai lands, and even more so, the private ranches owned by individuals and land brokers, and corporations intending to cash in on appreciating land prices due to population increases . . . these are strangling the migration corridors. If we do not do something now, or soon, the migration corridors will be gone. The beauty and rhythms of nature subdued. The park will become little more than a zoo.”

Jack nodded, watching the road, noticing traffic becoming lighter as Samuel skirted what seemed a different part of the city. Industrial. Large buildings alongside a rail line. “Where are we going, and who am I working with?”

“We are going to the south of the park, where we have a ranger outpost for you to stay. And it is me with whom you’ll be working.”

“Are you a scientist?”

“I am not a scientist. I am ranger, a warden.”

“Who also happens to be investigating two murders.”

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Samuel said, steering into a roundabout, taking the third turn. “Teach me to do Gabriel Kagunda’s research, and I will assure that it continues.”

Jack studied him a moment. “Did you know him well? Did you know either of them?”

“Very well. The other ranger—David Ole Nalangu—had been under my command for many years. He was Maasai, a good man, a good ranger.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Samuel raised a hand to his beret in salute. “And thank you for coming. Do you know why your government sent only one?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Maybe just as well.”

“Why?’

“It might make things easier. I wasn’t exactly following protocol.”

“Interesting. Care to share?”

Samuel chose not to answer.

“Sorry. None of my business.”

The cityscape became something less, yielding to a fence and an entrance sign. East Gate, Nairobi National Park.

Within minutes of driving past a cluster of buildings, they were on open expanses, a moonlit picture of Africa. Looking back, lights of the city. Looking forward, grassland, scattered fever trees and acacia. After several turns and road junctions, they came to an encampment. A cluster of small buildings. Samuel steered through, stopping at a solitary building, small and unmarked. He killed the engine and climbed out. Jack followed him in.

The house held a small, functional kitchen, and a room with a desk and what was little more than an army cot. Jack dropped his duffle on the bed.

“Will this be adequate?” Samuel asked.

“It’ll do fine.”

“If not, we can try again to find a room in Nairobi, or at one of the lodges or safari camps. I was not expecting such a rapid response from your government.”

Jack laughed. “Impressive, wasn’t it? Doesn’t happen very often, I promise.” He looked around the quarters. “This will work.”

“I’ve stocked the kitchen, but maybe not adequately.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. What do you people eat?”

“Less meat than Americans. Some of us like curries.”

“Love curries, I think. Coffee?”

“In the pantry. Tomorrow I’ll take you to get supplies to your liking.”

“I’m sure what you’ve gotten is fine. Experience the local cuisine, I always say. So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“We begin.” Samuel pointed at the desk. “I assume you’ll want to read Gabriel Kagunda’s research plan. It is there, in the top drawer. You will find the key in the kitchen cupboard nearest the stove. I will permit you to read, then I will pick you up here at ten.”

“Oh, I forgot. I promised my director this would be a headquarters exercise. Training. No going into the field.”

Leboo stared at him a moment. “I assume you’ll want to see what the national park has to offer?”

“Very much so, yes.”

“Good. Two things, Mr. Jack. First, I can easily make my headquarters a mobile one. Second, do you always follow orders?”