Читать книгу Piranha - Rudie van Rensburg - Страница 6

Natasha van der Merwe, Werner realised each time he saw her, did not look like the models in glossy magazines. She had high cheekbones and big, dark eyes, but there was a lack of softness in the lines one usually saw in cover girls. There was something angular about her face that excluded her from the mainstream idea of beauty. There was something challenging in her gaze, too.

She didn’t wear makeup, nor did she need it. But she was naturally sensual. She even looked great in IESA’s unflattering khaki uniform.

‘Morning. You’re early,’ she said when she saw Werner. ‘You didn’t drive all the way from Pretoria, did you?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I went to see my brother in Vaalwater yesterday. I left there this morning.’

She waved her hand towards the chair across her desk. ‘Make yourself at home. Can I get you some cold juice?’

‘Not right now, thanks.’

He took the documents out of his briefcase. No use hedging. He’d get straight to the point. Natasha had little patience for detours. She preferred straight talk.

As he was about to begin, the cellphone lying on her desk rang. She picked it up and looked at the screen. She frowned. ‘It’s Gert. I’m going to have to take it.’

She got up and moved towards the back of the long, narrow office. The way she walked, with a languid swing to her hips, was a reminder that she’d once sashayed down runways in designer clothes. This thought was somehow hard to reconcile with her current reputation as a relentless hunter of game poachers.

He heard the pitch of her voice rise, but her exact words were drowned out by the drone of the fan on the windowsill behind him. It was a disgrace, really, that they had no air conditioner, but Natasha had decided it would be too indulgent.

‘I don’t spend enough time in the office to justify the expense.’

When she was done and had sat down again, she looked upset. Her face was flushed and her eyes were darker than usual. ‘The Silencers have struck again. Two rhinos dead. They left the calf, thank goodness, but …’

She swallowed. ‘He’s blind. They’re guessing from the trauma of losing his mother. It’s happened once before. To a calf in Zim.’

‘Where were they shot?’

‘In the Kruger, near Shingwedzi. Gert and his people saw the carcasses from the helicopter this morning. The rangers are shocked. They said they were in the area all day yesterday and they didn’t hear a thing.’

‘Any clues?’

She shook her head. ‘They had the cheek to drive right up to the rhinos, so at least there are tracks. It’s The Silencers’ modus operandi: no one heard a thing and the horns were loosened and cut out, not sawn or chopped off. The whole operation couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes.’

She sighed. ‘If only we could catch that lot. Then we’ll have won half the battle.’

Werner coughed. The poachers’ timing couldn’t be worse. He already felt guilty about what he had come to say.

He pointed at the documents on the table between them. ‘Tim sent me this yesterday. It’s not good news.’

Natasha narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice had dropped an octave.

‘They’re cutting our budget by half,’ he said, summarising the fifteen pages of the report.

‘What! They can’t!’

He nodded, sighed. ‘I’m afraid it’s their money. They can do with it what they like.’

Shock and disbelief showed on her face. ‘But why? We’re doing a damn good job here!’

She pulled open the top drawer of her desk and took out a piece of paper. ‘I was collating our latest stats last night. Since we started three years ago, forty-six poaching rings have been nailed, thanks to our intel. Because of IESA, four hundred rhinos and more than three hundred elephants have been rescued … and that’s a conservative estimate.’

Werner held up his hands. ‘I know. I know, Natasha. You don’t have to convince me. And they know it too. They recognise that your team has made an enormous contribution in southern Africa. But their position is that it’s time now for the local conservation authorities to take greater responsibility. They …’

‘They don’t have the manpower, Werner!’

‘Wait, you’re being too hasty. That’s just one of the dozens of reasons why they think the situation has improved enough to …’

‘Dozens of reasons! I’d love to hear them. Because improvement certainly isn’t reflected in the increasing number of dead rhinos.’

He pushed the document towards her. ‘You can read this later, but you already know about the huge donations from the Dutch and Swedish lotteries and from the Howard G. Buffet Foundation to the Peace Parks Foundation and to SANParks. They believe that money’s going to put the poachers on the back foot.’

‘In the far-distant future perhaps. The money’s going to be used to reduce the value of horns by infusing them with a liquid that makes them useless for medicinal or ornamental use. That’s their big plan, which doesn’t actually work with those dense horns. Apparently, the local authorities want to invest in technology to monitor the rhinos, but that’s easier said than done. Think of all the manpower and know-how that requires. You know how slowly the bloody wheels of conservation turn. There’s always talk of long-term plans, and the other plans they unveiled before have come to nothing. Meanwhile, the poachers carry on as always. Last year more than a thousand rhinos were killed. We’re at seven hundred this year and it’s only July! Where’s it going to end, Werner?’

He knew she was right, but he ploughed on. ‘There are signs that South Africa is considering donating stockpiled rhino horn to the Asians to bring down its value.’

‘Impractical. It’s a temporary solution.’

‘They say there have been diplomatic negotiations in the East to start educational programmes. People need to be informed that poachers are wiping out an endangered species. But also that rhino horn doesn’t cure cancer, as some believe.’

‘They’re dreaming if they think they’re going to stop the poaching train that way! Education programmes have bugger-all power against the horn mafia’s marketing. There’s just too much money at play.’

Werner motioned helplessly towards the document again. ‘IESA’s donors are at the forefront of negotiating legalising rhino-horn trade with other pressure groups. They believe it will benefit South Africa and the rhinos. Foreign currency will stay in the country and provide money for rhino conservation.’

Natasha’s eyes were blazing. ‘That’s not going to stop poaching! They’re underestimating the demand for rhino horn among millions of people in the East. In any case, how long is it going to take the world to agree on legalising rhino-horn trade? By the time that happens, there’ll be no rhinos left.’

He sighed again. ‘I know. You’re right. But we’re not going to convince them. Fact of the matter is their focus has shifted to South America. Various monkey species threatened in the Amazon rainforests. I get the impression the big donors are putting pressure on Tim to help with problems closer to home.’

‘So the dozens of reasons in this document are just lip service to justify the shift to South America?’

‘Exactly. Nothing’s going to change their minds.’

She leaned forward over the desk. ‘This means we’re going to have to fire people. And stop using the helicopter. We’ll become one of the many toothless organisations who make zero difference because they have zero money.’

For the first time since he’d met her, he saw her eyes shine with tears. It made her look defenceless, vulnerable.

* * *

The Baganda hero-worshipped white people back then. One day when Smiley and I were at the huts where the farm labourers stayed, the father of one of our friends drew us aside with a frown.

‘You’re wazungu. You need to start thinking and behaving like wazungu. You will be respected, blessed, honoured with gifts. You don’t belong here in our hut with our son. You need to keep your distance.’

This conversation came to inform my view of the world. I began to believe that we white settlers were a cut above them. It helped me process Joseph’s death. No one but Smiley ever referred to it again. Joseph’s father, a shepherd, had simply been informed that his son had made off.

I laughed along when Smiley made jokes about the incident. Smiley had become my hero: the hardy farm boy with the big smile and a certainty about how things worked in Africa.