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?”
Chapter
9
Jack woke at sunrise, made his way to the kitchen and figured out the stove. After making a pot of coffee, he slipped on cargo pants, took his first cup to the porch, and sipped staring out over the savanna.
Scattered fever trees, tall and wispy, floated above the grasslands, their canopies seemingly held in check by the sky. Birdlife welcomed the morning. Chatters and songs rose from acacia surrounding the enclave.
He went for a second cup, and when finished, forced himself to go inside. No more time to enjoy this. Need to wrap it up and get home, before the coalition falls apart.
First things first. Email.
He pulled out his laptop and hurried to draft a message to Karen Hatcher and Kip Culberson, with the latest version of the coalition’s report to Congress, and changes he’d made on the flight from Washington. After attaching the document, he noticed no signal for wireless. Seriously? He checked the outpost for phone lines. Nothing. No place to plug in a modem.
He dug his phone from the top pocket of his day pack and turned it on. Signal, fair. But who the hell is the carrier, and what’s this gonna cost? He checked email. Nothing new. Not since yesterday. No data transfer. Electronically, stranded. He noticed the charge on the battery—nearly dead—and glanced at the nearest electrical outlet. No way the charger’s gonna fit that thing. Not without a converter.
The emails aren’t going anywhere. Not now. It’s the middle of the night in the states. A few hours won’t hurt.
He turned off the devices and put them away, then sauntered into the kitchen, poured another cup of coffee, and opened the cupboard to look for the key to the desk. He found it under a bag of rice.
He opened the desk and found the research plan alone in a drawer.
The plan was thorough, and, as Samuel said, multi-faceted. Gabriel Kagunda had all the hallmarks of a good scientist. His sampling protocol and statistical design were well defined and likely had been well before he ever went into the field. Nothing reeked of pre-determined conclusion, but his work would help them understand how the ecosystem worked, and serve as a basis for decisions and monitoring conditions over time.
His initial phase of work focused on grass and browse species for rhino, zebra, gazelle, wildebeest, and giraffe. He also intended to look at those same plant species in areas used during seasonal migration, and for what would be prime and sub-prime years, for habitat utilized in and outside the national park, for wet and dry seasons. His purpose appeared to be that of defining the values—the plant species and their distributions, the water sources and connectivity factors—that held the migration corridors together. Ambitious, and hardly something easily tackled in two to three weeks. After a morning of hard study, Jack had a sense of what he could do to help kick start Kagunda’s work.
Promptly at ten there was a knock at the door.
Jack reached back and swung it open.
Outside, Samuel stood, almost at attention. “Good morning. If you are ready, Mr. Jack, we will begin with a tour. We will go only places where tourists go on safari.”
“Sounds great.” Jack reassembled the sections of the research plan he had scattered around the desk. “I think I’ll bring this.”
“Very well. Were our preparations for your arrival adequate?” Samuel remained planted a meter from the door.
“Yours were great. Mine sucked.”
“Pardon me. I do not understand.”
“American colloquialism. Not worth explaining. The provisions are great, thanks. My preparations, not so great. Need some sort of adaptor for the electrical. I need wireless, or some way to send email. Got a report I need to send home. Soon, or things go to hell.”
“Your research?”
“No, other duties as assigned,” Jack muttered. He stuffed the research plan in his pack. “Politics and deadlines.”
“Politics and deadlines? For a scientist?”
“Everyone has deadlines, Samuel.”
“Yes, but politics? Gabriel Kagunda spoke of science being best when sheltered from the influence of politics.”
“Yes. That’s wise, but . . .” Jack paused, remembering the director’s words. You’re only a scientist. “Never mind.” He gave a flippant wave of his hand. “Just work. Something I need to pass off to someone while I’m here.”
“I see. I will get you what you need.”
Rubbing his chin, Jack said, “Forgot to shave.” He threw the pack over his shoulder, backed out and closed the door.
Samuel led him to the Land Cruiser.
Climbing in, Jack noticed something on the floor. A rifle. Stock, wooden. Magazine, curved, and long enough for a not unsubstantial number of rounds. “Tourist route? Do tourists have guides carrying AK-47s?”
“No. Rangers only. I promise, this is not the time of day to be worried. Poachers prefer the night. In the day they know rangers are about, watching and ready.”
“How about at night? Rangers, I mean.”
“We are there at night, but the odds are less in our favor.”
“Why?”
“Some poachers are better equipped.”
—·—
Wildlife in abundance. Not quite everywhere, but the sight of giraffe with a cityscape background made it seem as though they were, the two seemed
