Текст книги "Elephant Song"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
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He prodded Daniel's midriff.  And puff and pant when I run a hundred yards?  No thank you, Danny.  I'll stay here where I can drink Zambezi water, not Coca-Cola, and eat buffalo steaks, not Big Macs.  They loaded the last rolls of salted elephant-hide and immature calf tusks by the glare of truck headlights, and climbed back up the rough winding road to the rim of the escarpment and the headquarters of the Park at Chiwewe in the dark.

Johnny drove the green Landrover at the head of the slow convoy of refrigerator trucks and Daniel sat beside him on the front seat.  They talked in the soft desultory manner of old friends in perfect accord.

Suicide weather, Daniel wiped his forehead on the sleeve.  of his bush shirt.  Even though it was almost midnight, the heat and the humidity were enervating.  Rains will break soon.  Good thing you're getting out of the valley, " Johnny grunted.  That road turns into a swamp in the rain and most of the rivers are impassable.  The tourist camp at Chiwewe had been closed a week previously in anticipation of the onslaught of the rainy season.  I don't look forward to leaving, Daniel admitted. It's been like old times again.  Old times, Johnny nodded.  We had some fun.

When are you coming back to Chiwewe?  I don't know, Johnny, but my offer is genuine.  Come with me.  We made a good team once; we would be good again.  I know it.  Thanks, Danny.  Johnny shook his head.  But I've got work to do here.  I won't give up, Daniel warned him, and Johnny grinned.  I know.  You never do.  In the morning, when Daniel climbed the small kopje behind the headquarters camp to watch the sunrise, the sky was filled with dark and mountainous cloud and the heat was still oppressive.

Daniel's mood matched that sombre dawn, for although he had captured some wonderful material during his stay, he had also rediscovered his friendship and affection for Johnny Nzou.  The knowledge that it might be many years before they met again saddened him.

Johnny had invited him to breakfast on this, his last day.  He was waiting for Daniel on the wide mosquito-screened verandah of the thatched bungalow that had once been Daniel's own home.

Daniel paused below the verandah and glanced around the garden.  It was still the way that Vicky had planned it and originally laid it out.

Vicky had been the twenty-year-old bride that Daniel had brought to Chiwewe all those years ago a slim cheerful lass with long blonde hair and smiling green eyes, only a few years younger than Daniel at the time.

She had died in the front bedroom overlooking the garden that she had cherished.  An ordinary bout of malaria had turned without warning to the pernicious cerebral strain.  It had been all over very swiftly, even before the flying doctor could reach the Park.

The eerie sequel to her death was that the elephants, who had never entered the fenced garden before, despite its laden citrus trees and rich vegetable plot, came that very night.  They came at the exact hour of Vicky's death and completely laid waste the garden.  They even ripped out the ornamental shrubs and rose bushes.  Elephant seem to have a psychic sensitivity to death.  It was almost as if they had sensed her passing, and Daniel's grief.

Daniel had never married again and had left Chiwewe not long after.

The memories of Vicky were too painful to allow him to remain.  Now Johnny Nzou lived in the bungalow and his pretty Matabele wife Mavis tended Vicky's garden.  If Daniel had been able to choose, he would have had it no other way.

This morning Mavis had prepared a traditional Matabele breakfast of maize porridge and sour milk, thickened in a calabash gourd, the beloved amasi of the Nguni pastoral tribes.

Afterwards, Johnny and Daniel walked down towards the ivory go down together.  Halfway down the hill Daniel checked and shaded his eyes as he stared towards the visitors camp.  This was the game-fenced area on the river bank where the thatched cottages with circular walls stood under the wild fig trees.

These structures, peculiar to southern Africa, were known as rondavels. I thought you told me that the Park was closed to visitors, Daniel said.

One of the rondavels is still occupied, and there's a car parked outside it.  That's a special guest, a diplomat, the Ambassador of the Taiwanese Republic of China to Harare, Johnny explained.  He is extremely interested in wildlife, particularly elephants, and has contributed a great deal to conservation in this country.

We allow him special privileges.  He wanted to be here without other tourists, so I kept the camp open for him– Johnny broke off, then exclaimed, There he is now!  Three men stood in a group at the foot of the hill.  It was still too far to make out their features.  As they started towards them, Daniel asked, What happened to the two white rangers who helped with the cull yesterday?  They were on loan from Wankie National Park.  They left to go home early this morning.  Closer to the group of three men Daniel made out the Taiwanese ambassador.

He was younger than he would have expected a man of such rank to be.

Although it was often difficult for a Westerner to judge the age of an oriental, Daniel put him at a little over forty.  He was tall and lean with straight black hair that was oiled and combed back from a high intelligent forehead.  He was good-looking with a clear, almost waxen, complexion.

There was something about his, features that suggested that his ancestry was not pure Chinese, but mixed with European blood.  Though his eyes were liquid jet-black in colour, their shape was rounded and his upper eyelids lacked the characteristic fold of skin at the inner corner. Good morning, Your Excellency, Johnny greeted him with obvious respect.  Warm enough for you?  Good morning, Warden.  The ambassador left the two black rangers and came to meet them.  I prefer it to the cold.  He was wearing an open-necked short-sleeved blue shirt and slacks, and indeed looked cool and elegant.

May I present Doctor Daniel Armstrong?  Johnny asked.  Daniel, His Excellency the Ambassador of Taiwan, Ning Cheng Gong.  No introduction is necessary, Doctor Armstrong is a famous man.  Cheng smiled charmingly as he took Daniel's hand.  I have read your books and watched your television programmes with the greatest of interest and pleasure.  His English was excellent, as though he were born to the language, and Daniel warmed to him.  Johnny tells me that you are very concerned about the African ecology, and that you have made a great contribution to conservation in this country.  Cheng made a deprecatory gesture.  I only wish I could do more.  But he was staring at Daniel thoughtfully.

Forgive me, Doctor Armstrong, but I did not expect to find other visitors at Chiwewe at this time of year.  I was assured that the Park was closed.

Although his tone was friendly, Daniel sensed that the question was not an idle one.  Don't worry, Your Excellency.  My camera man and I are leaving this afternoon.  You will soon have the whole of Chiwewe to yourself, Daniel assured him.  Oh, please don't misunderstand me.  I am not so selfish as to wish you gone.  In fact, I am sorry to hear you are leaving so soon.  I am sure we would have had a great deal to discuss.

Despite the denial, Daniel sensed that Cheng was relieved that he was leaving.  His expression was still warm and his manner friendly, but Daniel was becoming aware of depths and layers below the urbane exterior.

The ambassador fell in between them, as they walked down to the ivory warehouse, and chatted in a relaxed manner, and then stood aside to watch as the rangers and a team of porters began to unload the newly culled ivory from the truck parked at the door to the warehouse.  By this time Jock was there with his Sony camera filming the work from every angle.

As each tusk was brought out, still crusted with freshly congealed blood, it was weighed on the old-fashioned platform scale that stood at the entrance to the warehouse.  Johnny Nzou sat at a rickety deal table and recorded the weight of each tusk in a thick leather-bound ledger.

He then allocated a registration number to it and one of his rangers stamped that number into the ivory with a set of steel dies.

Registered and stamped, the tusk was now legal ivory and could be auctioned and exported from the country.

Cheng watched the procedure with a lively interest.  One pair of tusks, although not heavy or massive, was of particular beauty.  They were delicately proportioned shafts with fine grain and elegant curves, an identical and perfectly matched pair.

Cheng stepped forward and squatted beside them as they lay on the scale.

He stroked them with a lover's sensual touch.  Perfect, he purred.  A natural work of art.  He broke off as he noticed Daniel watching him.

Daniel had been vaguely repelled by this display of cupidity, and it showed on his face.

Cheng stood up and explained smoothly.  I have always been fascinated by ivory.  As you probably know, we Chinese consider it to be a highly propitious substance.  Few Chinese households are without any ivory carving; it brings good luck to its owner.

However, my family interest goes even deeper than common superstition. My father began his working life as an ivorycarver, and so great was his skill that by the time I was born he owned shops in Taipei and Bangkok, Tokyo and Hong Kong, all of them specialising in ivory artefacts.  Some of my earliest memories are of the look and feel of ivory.  As a boy, I worked as an apprentice ivory-carver in the store in Taipei, and I came to love and understand ivory as my father does.  He has one of the most extensive and valuable collections he stopped himself.  Forgive me, please.  I sometimes get carried away by my passion, but that is a particularly beautiful set of tusks.  It is very rare to find a pair so perfectly matched.  My father would be ecstatic over them.  He watched longingly as the tusks were carried away and packed with the hundreds of others in the warehouse.

Interesting character, Daniel remarked, after the last tusk had been registered and locked away, and he and Johnny were making their way up the hill to the bungalow for lunch.  But how does the son of an ivory-carver get to be an ambassador?  Johnny chuckled.  Wing Cheng Gong's father may have come from a humble background, but he didn't remain there.  I understand he still has his ivory shops and his collection, but those are merely his hobbies now.  He is reputed to be one of the richest men, if not the richest man.  in Taiwan, and that, as you can imagine, is very rich indeed.  From what I hear he has his fingers in all the juiciest pies around the Pacific rim as well as some in Africa.  He has a large family of sons and Cheng is the youngest and, they say, the brightest.  I like him, don't you?

Yes, he seems pleasant enough, but there is just something a little odd.

Did you notice his face as he fondled that tusk?  It was, Daniel searched for the word, unnatural?  You writers!  Johnny shook his head ruefully.  If you can't find something sensational, you make it up.

And they both laughed.

Ning Cheng Gong stood with one of the black rangers at the foot of the hill and watched Daniel and Johnny disappear amongst the msasa trees.  I do not like the white man being here, said Gomo.  Under Johnny Nzou, he was Chiwewe's senior ranger.  Perhaps we should wait until another time.

The white man leaves this afternoon, Cheng told him coldly.  Besides which you have been well paid.  Plans have been made that cannot be altered now.  The others are already on their way and cannot be sent back.  You have only paid us half of what we agreed, Gomo protested.

The other half when your work is done, not before, Cheng said softly, and Gomo's eyes were like the eyes of a snake.  You to do, Cheng went on.

know what you have Gama was silent for a moment.  The foreigner had indeed paid him a thousand US dollars, the equivalent of six monthssalary, with the promise of another year's salary to follow after the job was done.

You will do it?  Cheng insisted.  Yes, Gomo agreed.  I will do it.

Cheng nodded.  It will be tonight or tomorrow night, not later.  Be ready, both of you.  We will be ready, Gomo promised, and climbed into his Landrover, where the second black ranger waited, and they drove away.

Cheng walked back to his rondavel in the deserted visitors' camp.

The cottage was identical to the other thirty which during the dry cool season usually housed a full complement of tourists.  He fetched a cool drink from the refrigerator and sat on the screen porch to wait out the hottest hours of the noonday.

He felt nervous and restless.  Deep down he shared Gomo's misgivings about the project.  Although they had considered every possible eventuality and planned for each of them, there was always the unforeseeable, the unpredictable, such as the presence of Armstrong.

It was the first time he had attempted a coup of this magnitude.  it was his own initiative.  of course, his father knew about and thoroughly approved of the other lesser shipments, but the risk was far greater this time, in proportion to the rewards.  If he succeeded he would earn his father's respect, and that was more important to him even than the material profits.

He was the youngest son, and he had to strive that much harder to win his place in his father's affections.  For that reason alone he must not fail.

In the years that he had been at the embassy in Harare, he had consolidated his place in the illicit ivory and rhino-horn trade.  It had begun with a deceptively casual remark at a dinner-party by a middle-ranking government official about the convenience of diplomatic privilege and access to the diplomatic courier service.  With the business training that his father had given him, Cheng recognised the approach immediately for what it was, and made a non-committal but encouraging response.

A week of delicate negotiations followed and then Cheng was invited to play golf with another higher official.  His driver parked the ambassadorial Mercedes in the car park at the rear of the Harare golf club and as instructed left it unattended while Cheng l4as out on the course.  Cheng was officially a tenhandicap golfer but could play well below that when he chose.

On this occasion he allowed his opponent to win three thousand US dollars and paid him in cash in front of witnesses in the club house.

When he returned to his official residence he ordered the driver to park the Mercedes in the garage and then dismissed him.  In the boot he found six large rhino horns packed in layers of hessian cloth.

He sent these out in the next diplomatic pouch to Taipei and they were sold through his father's shop in Hong Kong for sixty thousand US dollars.  His father was delighted with the transaction and wrote Cheng a long letter of approbation and reminded his son of his deep interest in, and love of, ivory.  Cheng let it be known discreetly that he was a connoisseur of ivory as well as of rhino horn, and he was offered at bargain prices various pieces of unregistered and unstamped ivory.  It did not take long for the word to spread in the small closed world of the poachers that there was a new buyer in the field.

Within months he was approached by a Sikh businessman from Malawi who was ostensibly looking for Taiwanese investment in a fishing venture that he was promoting on Lake Malawi.  Their first meeting went very well.  Cheng found that Chetti Singh's figures added up attractively, and passed them on to his father in Taipei.  His father approved the estimates and agreed a joint venture with Chetti Singh.  When the documents were signed at the embassy, Cheng invited him to dinner, and during the meal Chetti Singh remarked, I understand that your illustrious father is loving very much the beautiful ivory.

As a token of my utmost esteem I could be arranging for a regular supply.  I am sure that you would be forwarding the goods to your father without too much scarlet tape.  Most miserably the ivory will be unstamped, never mind.  I have a deep distaste for red tape, Cheng assured him.

Within a short time it became obvious to Cheng that Chetti Singh was head of a network that operated in all those African countries that still had healthy populations of elephant and rhino.  From Botswana and Angola, Zambia, Tanzania and Mozambique, he gathered in the white gold and the horn.  He controlled all aspects of his Organization down to the actual composition of the armed gangs who raided regularly into the National Parks in those countries.

At first Cheng was merely another customer of his, but once the fishing partnership on Lake Malawi began to flourish and they were netting hundreds of tons of tiny kapenta fish each week, drying them and exporting them to the east, their relationship began to change.  It became more cordial and trusting.

Finally Chetti Singh offered Cheng and his father a proprietary stake in the ivory trade.  Naturally he asked for a substantial investment to allow him to expand the scope and range of the partnership's operations, and another larger payment for his share of goodwill in the enterprise.

In all, it amounted to almost a million dollars.  Cheng, on his father's behalf, was able by astute bargaining to reduce this initial fee by fifty percent.

Only once he was a full partner could Cheng appreciate the extent and range of the operation.  In each of the countries which still harboured elephant herds, Chetti Singh had been able to put in place clandestine circles of accomplices in government.  Many of his contacts went as high as ministerial level.

Within most of the major National Parks he had informers and officials on his payroll.  Some were merely game scouts or rangers, but others were the actual chief wardens in charge of the Parks, those appointed as guardians and protectors of the herds.

The partnership was so lucrative that when Cheng's original term of appointment as ambassador expired, his father arranged through friends high in the Taiwanese government for it to be extended for a further three-year term.

By this time Cheng's father and brothers had become fully aware of the investment opportunities that Africa offered.  Beginning with the small but profitable fishing venture and then the ivory partnership, the family had been attracted more and more to the dark continent.

Neither Cheng nor his father had any scruples about apartheid and began investing heavily in South Africa.  They were well aware that world condemnation and the policy of economic sanctions had depressed the prices of land and other valuable assets in that country to a point where in sensible businessman could resist them.

Honoured parent, Cheng had told his father on one of his frequent returns to Taipei, within ten years apartheid and white minority rule will have passed from the face of the land.

Once that happens, prices in South Africa will rise to find their true levels.  They purchased great ranches of tens of thousands of acres for the same price as a three-room flat in Taipei.  They purchased factories and office blocks and shopping centres from American companies forced by their government to disinvest from South Africa.  They paid five and ten cents for a dollar's worth of value.

However, Cheng's father, who had been among other things a steward of the Hong Kong race club, was too astute a gambler to place all his bets on a single horse.  They invested in other African countries.  An agreement had just been negotiated between South Africa and Cuba and Angola and America for the independence of Namibia.  The family invested in property in Windhoek and fishing licences and mineral rights in that country.  Through Chetti Singh, Cheng was introduced to ministers of government in Zambia and Zaire and Kenya and Tanzania who for financial considerations were inclined to look favourably on Taiwanese investment in their countries, at prices which Cheng's father found acceptable.

Nevertheless, despite all these other major investments, Cheng's father, for sentimental reasons, was still drawn to the original ivory venture which had first provoked his interest in the dark continent.

At their last meeting he had remarked to Cheng, as his son knelt in front of him to ask his blessing, My son, it would please me greatly if, once you return to Africa, you were able to find a large quantity of registered and stamped ivory.  Illustrious father, the only sources of legal ivory are the government auction Cheng broke off as he saw his father's expression of scorn.

Ivory purchased at government auctions leaves very little!  margin of profit, the old man hissed.  I had expected you to show better sense than that, my son.  His father's censure rankled deeply, and Cheng spoke to Chetti Singh at the very next opportunity.

Chetti Singh stroked his rolled beard thoughtfully.  He was a handsome man and the immaculate white turban added to his stature.  I am now thinking of but one single solitary source of registered ivory, he said.

And that is being the government warehouse.  You are suggesting that the ivory might be taken from the warehouse before the auction?

Perhaps.  .

. Chetti Singh shrugged, but it would be calling for great and meticulous laying of plans.  Let me run my mind over and around this vexing problem.  Three weeks later they met again at Chetti Singh's office in Lilongwe.  I have occupied my mind greatly, and a solution has occurred to me, the Sikh told him.

How much will it cost?  Cheng's first question was instinctive.  Kilo for kilo, no more than the acquisition of unregistered ivory, but as there will be only opportunity to procure a single and solitary shipment we will be wise to be making it as large as possible.  The contents of an entire warehouse, never mind!

How would your father be struck by that?

Cheng knew his father would be delighted.  Registered ivory had three or four times the value of illicit ivory in the international marketplace.

Let us consider which country will provide us with this merchandise, Chetti Singh suggested, but it was obvious that he had already decided.

Not Zaire or South Africa.  Those are two countries where I do not have an effective Organization.

Zambia and Tanzania and Kenya have very little ivory remaining.  We are left with Botswana, where there is no large-scale culling, or finally Zimbabwe.  Good, Cheng nodded with satisfaction.

The ivory is accumulated in the game department ware houses at Wankie and Harare and Chiwewe until is being undertaken the hi-annual auction.

We would acquire the merchandise from one of those centres.  Which one? The warehouse in Harare is too well guarded.  Chetti Singh held up three fingers of his one hand and, having discarded Harare, he folded one down, leaving two fingers raised.  Wankie is the largest National Park.

However, it is far from the Zambian border.  He folded down another finger.  Which leaves Chiwewe.  I have trustworthy agents on the Park's staff there.  They tell me that the warehouse is almost full of registered ivory at the present time, and the Park headquarters are less than thirty miles from the Zambezi River and the Zambian border.

One of my teams could cross the river and be there in a day's march, never mind!

You intend to rob the warehouse?  Cheng leaned forward over his desk.

Without the shade or fraction of a doubt.  Chetti Singh lowered his raised finger and looked surprised.  Was that not also your intention all along?  Perhaps, Cheng replied carefully.  But is it feasible?

Chiwewe is in a remote and isolated area of the country, but it lies on the river, which is an international boundary.  I would send in a raiding party of twenty men armed absolutely with automatic weapons and led by one of my best and most reliable hunters.  In darkness they cross the river from Zambia in canoes and in a day's hard marching they reach the Park's headquarters and fall upon it.  They dispose of all witnesses .  . . Cheng coughed nervously and Chetti Singh paused and looked at him questioningly.  These would not amount to more than four or five persons.  The permanent rangers are in my pay.  The visitors camp will be closed against the rainy season and the bulk of the staff will have returned to their villages on leave.  The only remaining personnel will be the Park warden and two or three other skeleton staff.  Still, is there no way that we can avoid disposing of them?  It was not a matter of scruples that made Cheng hesitate.  It was prudent not to take unnecessary risks, if they could be avoided.  if -you can be suggesting alternatives, I would be pleased to cast my mind over them, Chetti Singh told him, and after a moment's thought Cheng shook his head.

No, not at the moment, but please go on.  Let me hear the rest of your plan.  Very well.  My men dispose of all witnesses and burn down the ivory warehouse and then immediately retreat across the river.  The Sikh stopped speaking, but he watched Cheng s face with ill-concealed glee, anticipating his next question.  It annoyed Cheng that he must ask it, for it sounded naive even to his own ears.  But what about the ivory?

Chetti Singh smirked mysteriously, forcing him to ask again.  Will your poachers take the ivory?  You say they will be a small party.

Surely they will not be able to carry that much, will they?  That is the absolute beauty of my plan.  The raid is a dead herring for the Zimbabwe police.  And this time Cheng smiled at the solecism.  We want them to believe that the poachers have taken the ivory.  Then they will not think to look for it inside their own country, will they?  Now, as he sat on his verandah in the midday heat, Cheng nodded grudgingly.

Chetti Singh's plan was ingenious, except, of course, that it did not take into account the presence of Armstrong and his television crew.

In fairness, however, none of them could have foreseen that.

Once again he considered delaying or cancelling the operation entirely, but almost immediately rejected the idea.  By this time, Chetti Singh's men would be across the river and marching on the camp.

There was no way he could reach them, and warn them to turn back. They were far past the point of no return.  If Armstrong and his camera man were still here when Chetti Singh's men arrived, then they would have to be disposed of along with the warden and his family and staff.

Cheng's train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone at the far end of the verandah.  The VIP cottage was the only one in the visitors camp equipped with a telephone.  He jumped up and went to it quickly.  He had been expecting the call.  It had been prearranged and was part of Chetti Singh's plan.

Ambassador Ning, he said, and Johnny Nzou answered.  Sorry to trouble you, Your Excellency, but there is a call from your embassy in Harare.

A gentleman calling himself Mr.  Huang.  He says he is your charge.

Will you take the call?  Thank you, Warden.  I will speak to Mr.

Huang.  He knew that it was a party line that crossed a hundred and fifty miles of wild bush from the district telephone exchange at the little village of Karoi, and the voice of his charge relayed from Harare was a whisper that seemed to come from some far corner of the galaxy. The message was the one he had expected, and afterwards Cheng cranked the handle of the antiquated telephone and Johnny Nzou came on the line again.  Warden, my presence is required in Harare urgently.

It is most unfortunate; I was looking forward to a few more days of relaxation.  I also regret that you are forced to leave.  My wife and I would have liked you to have dinner with us.  Perhaps some other time.

The refrigerator trucks are taking the elephant meat up to Karoi this evening.  It might be best if you travelled in convoy with them.  Your Mercedes does not have four-wheel drive, and it looks as though it might rain at any time.  That also was part of Chetti Singh's plan.

The raid had been timed to coincide with the elephant cull and the departure of the refrigerator trucks.  However, Cheng hesitated deliberately before he asked, When are the trucks leaving?  One of them has engine trouble.  Gomo the ranger had sabotaged the alternator.  The object was to delay the departure of the convoy until the arrival of the raiding party.  However, the driver tells me that they should be ready to leave around six o'clock this evening.  Johnny Nzou's voice changed as a thought struck him.  Of course, Doctor Armstrong is leaving almost immediately, you could drive in convoy with him.  No.

No!  Cheng cut in quickly.  I cannot leave that soon.  I will wait for the trucks.  As you wish.  Johnny sounded puzzled.

However, I cannot guarantee when the convoy will be ready to leave and I am sure Doctor Armstrong would agree to delay an hour or so.  No, Cheng told him firmly.  I will not inconvenience or delay Doctor Armstrong.  I will travel with your convoy Thank you, Warden.  To end the conversation and forestall any further discussion, he hung up the receiver.  He frowned.  Armstrong's presence was becoming increasingly troublesome. The sooner he disappeared the happier Cheng would be.

However, it was another twenty minutes before he heard the sound of a diesel engine coming from the direction of the warden's bungalow.  He stood up and went to the screen door of the verandah and watched the Toyota Landcruiser coming down the hill.  On the door of the truck was painted the logo of Armstrong Productions, a disembodied -arm with the wrist encircled by a spiked bracelet, and the elbow bent and tensed in a body-builder's stylised pose to raise a heroic bulge of biceps.

Doctor Armstrong was at the driver's wheel and his camera man was in the front seat beside him.

They were leaving at last.  Cheng nodded with satisfaction and glanced at his wristwatch.  It was 2 few minutes after one o'clock.

They would have at least four hours to get well clear before the attack on the headquarters was launched.