didn’t know how Hellstrom had the time to volunteer at the LZCG and operate Wanderlust Tours, one of the largest safari companies in Zambia. Unlike some safari owners, Hellstrom always followed the laws. On her patrols in the bush, she had never arrested any of his scouts or hunters for not having the proper licenses in the game-managed areas where hunting was allowed. Still, she couldn’t ignore the fact they hadn’t had a poaching problem until Hellstrom took over.
“What about Hellstrom?” Wynne threw out.
“I don’t know. He’s so well liked.”
“I know, but he did shoot down my idea of getting a DNA wildlife crime lab. He said it was too expensive and wouldn’t even take the idea to the board to vote on it.”
“I remember. Strange was it not, since it’s more effective in ferreting out poachers than the tracking system.”
It had been a dream of Wynne’s to see a lab established in the park, but she needed the LZCG behind her and the influence they had with the Zambian government. It certainly wasn’t going to happen while Hellstrom was chairman of the board.
“His safari business would be a great way to transport the meat,” Eieb said, his voice uncertain.
“True, and he knows our every move, but so does all of the LZCG staff.” She glanced down at Mehan. “We need to keep him safe. If the leader of this poaching ring knows he’s alive and talked, they’ll try to eliminate him.”
“I’ll protect him.” A heavy frown stretched across Eieb’s brow.
“After Doc Mukuka treats him, we should move him somewhere safe. Aja can help us.” Dr. Mukuka ran an AIDS clinic about two miles from base camp. It was the closest thing they had to a hospital.
“I know of a place.” Eieb nodded.
“Take the Rover. I’ll deal with the prisoners.”
Eieb hefted Mehan in his arms like he was a child, the tendons in Eieb’s long forearms straining. But the weight didn’t seem to slow him as he hurried through the forest.
“Don’t tell anyone about our arrest just yet,” Wynne called to Eieb’s back.
He didn’t answer her, and she wondered if he was too far away to hear her. If word of the capture got out, the meeting at Sausage Tree Camp would be cancelled. The poacher had said he was to turn over the contraband tonight. The camp was twenty kilometers away, near the southern edge of the park, next to the Zambezi River. She could easily slip down there and see who turned up. Maybe follow them and find out the smuggling route the poachers were taking.
Wynne picked up Eieb’s and Mehan’s rifles, then hurried back to Aja and the poachers. She thought of the LZCG again.
She didn’t want to believe one of the board members could be corrupt, but it was obvious someone was, maybe even more than one person. She didn’t know who to trust any longer. And she couldn’t risk offending all the board members by accusing one of them of poaching without definitive proof. It was the golden handcuff principle at work. And whoever was head of this ring had probably anticipated that advantage.
She knew finding the identity of this person would be like playing chess with the devil. One wrong move and she’d not only lose the job she loved with all her heart, she could lose her life. Tonight, just maybe, she could get one move ahead of the devil—if that was possible.
Chapter 2
The sun had just set and the soft evening moonlight cast a long sparkling shadow down the center of the Zambezi River as Wynne crept along its bank. The water current and bellows of hippos drowned out her footsteps. An occasional splash warned of a croc looking for a snack. A rich brew of animal musk, vegetation and the dank scent of fresh water clung to the air.
There was enough moonlight to see across the river to Zimbabwe’s shore. The Zambezi River acted as a natural boundary between the two countries. It also gave poachers a quick escape route into Zimbabwe. It was September; the end of the dry season, and the river had shrunk to a fourth its size, making it easier for poachers to cross. Poaching was rampant in Zimbabwe. Endangered species were all but wiped out. The country was too impoverished to control it and animals had fled into Zambia for protection.
It made sense the bush meat poachers would transport the meat along the river into Zimbabwe. And she wasn’t surprised she hadn’t come across these men in her nightly patrols of the river. The rangers never made a move unless they cleared it with base camp and LZCG headquarters. Since they worked so closely together, they both needed to be updated. Whoever was on duty would know she regularly watched the Zambezi at night. It was common knowledge among the rangers. She never failed to catch small-time local poachers, but never these new bush meat poachers.
Wynne paused as she spotted five female elephants with a three-year-old calf and an infant. She scanned the underbrush for a bull following the herd. Usually bull elephants traveled separately from the females and either foraged for food alone or in small herds with other male juveniles. But if a cow was in season, bulls trailed the females. They were also larger than the cows and easily spotted. She didn’t see one with this herd.
In groups like this one, a matriarch usually led the herd. She could be fifty or older and her experience in finding food and water, and in sensing danger maintained the social order of the herd. But this lone group of cows seemed frightened and unsure of approaching the river, raising their tusks and scenting the air, keeping their young at their sides. Obviously this herd had recently lost their matriarch—most likely one of the five elephants poached today.
The mother of the calf turned and Wynne saw that she had one broken tusk. Wynne had named her simply Broken Tusk. She was part of Bright Betsy’s herd, but Bright Betsy must have been one of the elephants slaughtered by the poachers. Wynne called her B.B. for short. B.B. had grown accustomed to Wynne and had let her get within thirty yards of the herd while they fed.
Years of poaching and the slaughter of thousands of elephants had made them fear man and they would rarely take the chances of drinking in the open along rivers and streambeds during the day, nor would Wynne have ever been able to get as close as she had to B.B.’s herd. But since the park had cracked down on poaching, the elephants had been overcoming their fear. At seeing this herd disoriented, afraid and mourning the death of their matriarch, Wynne felt a stab of guilt and anger in the pit of her gut. She’d failed them today, broken their trust.
She waited as they eased forward and drank, then plodded back into the forest, following Broken Tusk and her infant. Wynne vowed to see them unafraid and drinking out in the open again.
She spotted the place where the poacher had said he was supposed to hand over the goods. Sausage Tree Camp was nothing but a bush lodge, named for the huge sausage tree that marked its location. The tree grew along the river’s edge, centuries old, its boughs as thick as the tires on her Rover. She could see the phallic-shaped fruits hanging from its branches. Some of the gray-green fruit was well over two feet long and had to weigh at least twenty pounds. Several blue monkeys lounged on the branches, munching on the fruit, a much-prized treat of monkeys and elephants. Some native healers pulverized the fruit and applied the paste to treat skin problems, venereal disease, rheumatism, and cancer. She had used the paste a time or two herself on heat rashes and bee stings. Sausage tree fruit was also employed in a secret ritual that supposedly predicted the size of an infant’s penis when he reached adulthood.
Wynne cracked a smile at the thought, then shifted her gaze to the lodge.
