Читать книгу The Boy and the Poacher's Moon - Pamela Newham - Страница 6

The early morning sun touched the distant flat-topped koppies. It was that time just before the birds began their early morning wake-up call. Game ranger Piet Smit climbed out of his bakkie and took a deep breath. It was his favourite time of the day in Kruger.

But not this particular day.

He stared down at her. He didn’t feel angry. That would come later. Just drained. Once again, they had been too late.

Around him, members of the task team formed to deal with poaching were already at work gathering evidence. A man from the Hawks was taking photographs. Piet knew these would be entered into a database which was growing by the day. Someone else would take DNA samples.

An SANDF officer was on his radio calling in air support. As soon as it was properly light, a helicopter would be sent up to scout the area. But it was unlikely they’d find them. They would either be long gone or lying low. The cops would have to bring in the sniffer dogs to try to pick up their trail.

“They knew what they were doing,” said the officer from the Hawks, kneeling on the ground to examine the rhino more closely. Piet dropped onto his haunches and stared at the blood-encrusted face where once her horn had been.

He stood up and nodded. “Ja, I’ve seen this oke’s work before. If he’s got time, he uses a sharp knife instead of an axe. He’s good. Just slips it around the seam of the horn and basically pries it out.”

“We can only hope the cow was already dead,” said the Hawks man.

Piet stared down at the bullet holes in her neck. “What calibre?” he asked.

“I’d say a .375. He probably used those soft-nosed bullets. To make sure the job got done.”

Piet nodded. He knew those particular bullets expanded on impact. And did the most damage.

He lifted his hand. “Thanks.” He walked back towards his bakkie. What made it really tough was that they had known. They had been tipped off but still had not managed to stop the slaughter. One more rhino gone.

Hornblower.

Who the hell was he? Or she. After Piet had received the first anonymous e-mail a while back, some bright spark on the task team had come up with the name Hornblower.

The problem was that nothing had come out of that first e-mail. So when the second one had arrived yesterday, it wasn’t surprising his commanding officer had been sceptical.

Captain Absalom Dlamini had been at his desk when Piet brought the printout to him. He had read it and tossed it down.

“Piet, you get all kinds of crazies out there, man. This could be a hoax. The last time we got a tip from this bloke, I put everyone on high alert, and nothing happened. We’ve got enough on our shoulders without going on a wild goose chase.” He had tapped the edge of his desk with his fingers.

Piet could understand his captain’s reluctance. Each day, he had to make decisions based on very little information.

When Piet had joined SANParks, his job had been pretty straightforward. There was poaching, of course, but on a scale that the rangers could still handle. But not anymore.

Now they were fighting a war. And the enemy was relentless. When rhino poaching started to escalate, a special task team had been set up in the Kruger Park, and Piet had been chosen to be part of it. Others in the team consisted of members of the police force – including the Organised Crime Unit – and soldiers from the SANDF. The rangers had received gruelling paramilitary training. Piet told himself that it was necessary, but still felt uneasy in his new role. He was a conservationist, not a soldier.

But they had no option. Just about every day, heavily armed militia entered Kruger over the border from Mozambique. Not that there weren’t plenty of local people involved as well. And Piet knew it wasn’t enough just to catch the poachers.

They were prepared to risk their lives for money. And for every poacher taken out of the game, there were ten more to take his place.

They had to catch the big guys. Poaching was being run by overseas syndicates. These were the people selling rhino horn on the black market for millions of rands. That’s why the Organised Crime Unit was involved. Nothing would change unless the middlemen and kingpins were stopped.

Piet started his bakkie. He sat for a moment, looking at the huge beast lying on the ground. He didn’t want to imagine her dying cries. Once you had heard the heart-rending wail of a wounded rhino, you never forgot it. He put the bakkie into gear. Rhinos have been around for fifty million years, he thought. And in my lifetime, they may all be gone.

Sometimes it all seemed too much.