Chapter Twenty-Nine
Simone lay in bed, listening to the waves, which broke a few meters from her verandah. The salty tang of the ocean was heavy, penetrating the gauze-covered windows. The chalet had no glass windows, with every space being open to the ocean. The only protection from the elements was mosquito netting.
It was dark outside. Sarah curled close to her, deeply asleep. With the images of the video clip rerunning in her mind, as sharp as if it was one of her own memories, sleep was very far away. Someone had posed as her and she still couldn’t figure out who it was.
The woman in the clip was Caucasian, which didn’t help much as she was the only white woman on the team. The perpetrator had to be an insider, and therefore…a man. She gasped at the realization—the playing field had just widened with about thirty more options.
She stood and took the flashlight from the bedside table. The generator ran only at certain hours, from sunset until ten at night and in the mornings. It was past midnight and the unnatural hum of the engine had long since ceased. By torchlight she pulled the stack of graphs she’d worked on with Carlo from her suitcase. She’d squashed them in as an afterthought but the answer could be there.
Flicking through the papers, she studied the graphs but learned nothing new. Going through the names of the pilots that flew the route again and again proposed no new solutions—Michael was always the logical conclusion, since he constantly flew that route. She’d struck all the Tanzanian pilots off her list.
In frustration, she tossed the papers down on the bed; some missed the bed and drifted down to the floor, but she left them there and strolled out onto the beach and into the waves. She needed to clear the fog in her mind. The water licked to her thighs, just shy of wetting her pajama shorts. Compared to the winter wind that blew in from the sea the water was warm. She shuddered, suppressing the desire to strip and swim in the dark. Sarah was alone, and already she was too far from her daughter.
Back in the chalet, she washed the sand off her feet in the shower. When she padded back into the bedroom she stopped to gather up the papers that had fallen on the floor. She picked them up at random, shuffling them together, then paused. Two sheets had similar graphs on them, but they were not graphs of the same thing.
Sitting down on the bed, she looked closer. One was the graph plotting the circle route Carlevaro flew, with the overnights in the Serengeti and the Selous. The second graph was for another route that stopped in Ruaha, then in the Selous. The second part of the second graph matched the circle route graph—the plane would fly to Rufiji and stop only to offload guests and pick up those leaving.
There was scope for manipulation there, if the pilot had a plan of action and knew what to do.
She stared at the names of the three pilots who were plotted on the second graph. Stephan Botha was an older pilot from Namibia who’d started with Carlevaro Air six months ago but he hadn’t flown the route for the past three months. Michael Flynn and Ross O’Connor were the other two pilots. A shiver ran through her and the papers in her hand quivered so much she had to put them down on the bed. She compared the graphs with those that had Michael’s flights plotted on it. For the past few months, he’d flown those two routes almost exclusively. The longer route with the overnight in the Selous, and the shorter route that flew to Ruaha and then Rufiji. That meant he flew to Rufiji four times a week.
Ross O’Connor flew the Ruaha and Rufiji route on alternate days to Michael, and spent the rest of his time island hopping between Zanzibar, Mafia and Pemba, or on standby. The island flights were short, giving him enough time to slump around the lounge at the airport…keeping an eye on things.
The day she’d come back from leave rose in her memory. Ross and Michael had been sitting together in the lounge. Michael had never pretended to be a friend to Ross; he couldn’t stand the guy. Was that the perfect screen?
She paused. Whoever flew the flights from Ruaha to the Selous would have the time to plant spare keys at the airstrip. Keys the poachers could use to open the specific aircraft that would fly the next day and overnight at the Selous. Those keys would need to be returned at some point.
The night they had parked the DHC Twin Otter at Rufiji a plane had been parked on the Rufiji airstrip, but it had been the wrong one. The poachers had had the wrong key and somehow their communications had failed. They hadn’t known it was a charter plane parked that night but had tried to stow the tusk in the aircraft anyway. The scratch marks around the keyhole…the empty hold, the multiple footprints they’d read like a book… The poachers had tried to get in, but hadn’t been able to.
Her pulse sped up. It wasn’t a final solution, but Michael and Ross could be working together. She still hesitated to believe that Michael was involved. To have misjudged him for three years…and his girlfriend Annie was an environmentalist. But nothing else made sense.
Planes were assigned to flights based on a rotation schedule, because Peppe had always insisted that any pilot should be able to fly any airplane to any destination. Nobody was allowed a comfort zone. Getting the key for the aircraft that would be parked the next night required the code to the safe and keys to the office. Bribes could have paved the way for getting the code out of Rebecca. She blinked. Did Ross or Michael have a hold over Rebecca, or had they intimidated her into giving them the code? Did Rebecca even notice the missing key or did she choose to turn a blind eye to the glaring hole in the safe?
She took several deep breaths to calm down. Whoever had taken the photos had done Carlevaro a hell of a favor. She spread the papers out on the floor to get an overall picture, wanting to double-check her theory. Nothing else matched so clearly. She sighed, gathered the papers and put them on the bedside table. It was four o’clock in the morning. She had no phone and there was no way she could wake Sheila up to call Carlo. It would be light soon enough.
****
Carlo tried to rush through the customs process on arrival in Dar es Salaam, but at that time in the morning, it didn’t pay to rush anything. He pursed his lips in frustration as he hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address to Simone’s apartment. It was past five-thirty in the morning and the traffic would be building up. Hopefully he’d be there in thirty minutes. He wished it could be quicker. Every minute on the plane had been an eternity.
With resignation that he couldn’t escape the drive through the city centre, he sat back and watched the city come to life. It was much busier than he’d anticipated, the roads crowded with pedestrians on their way to work, dala-dalas packed with people hooting as they crossed intersections. Cheeky tuk-tuks wove through any gaps, always faster, always getting ahead. He cursed. With a tuk-tuk his trip could have been faster.
“Please wait,” he said to the taxi driver as they arrived at Simone’s apartment block. He got out of the car and called to the security guard at the gate. He tried to explain to the guard who he was, but the man recognized him. In half a second, he darted across the paved driveway and to the lobby, taking the stairs to her third-floor apartment two at a time.
Taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell, but it wasn’t working. He knocked, harder than he’d intended. A moment later the door opened. James King stood before him with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Mr. Carlevaro!” he blurted out as his eyes widened.
“Thank God you keep to your safari hours,” Carlo said by way of greeting.
“Yes, my internal clock. Always up at this hour.” For a moment James was flustered. “Come in.”
They shook hands and Carlo followed him into the apartment. “I’m looking for Simone?” His heart begged, and he held his breath. From the look James gave him he must look desperate.
“She’s visiting Sheila.” James searched his face. “She left yesterday.”
“Sheila?” He knew so little of Simone’s circle of friends and the life she’d built for herself over the years. “Where is she?”
“Sheila McKenzie, she’s the manager of your Kilweri Beach Camp.”
Sheila was one of their oldest employees and had been working for Carlevaro for more than thirty years. Relief rushed through his body, and for a moment he wished he could collapse on the sofa. Sheila would take care of Simone and Sarah. “Did she get there safely?”
“I think so.” James gave him a quizzical stare. “We can phone Sheila to check? There’s no network coverage on the island so you’ll struggle to get hold of Simone on her mobile. Sheila has a satellite phone.”
Carlo raked his hands through his hair, dropping into a chair. “Simone no longer has a mobile. You have Sheila’s number?”
James frowned. “Sure. I’ll get my phone.”
Carlo’s heart beat in his throat as James reappeared with his phone pressed against his ear.
“Hi Sheila, yes, yes fine, did Simone and Sarah arrive yesterday?” James asked.
Carlo stared at him, clenching his fists. James looked at him and nodded.
He let go of the breath he’d been holding. They’re safe. He raked his hand through his hair and strode to the window overlooking the sea to hide his emotions from James.
“She’s at the end of the row of chalets? That’s too far,” James continued. “It’s okay, no need to talk to her, thank you.”
“Please tell Sheila to keep Simone there. Don’t let her leave.” Carlo turned toward him. “Keep her safe until I get there. And make sure the boat waits for me. I’m leaving now.”
James repeated his words to Sheila and then James rang off. “I’ll forward you Sheila’s number.”
“Thank you,” Carlo said. “Someone came around to look for Simone last night, but no one was here.”
“I was at the clinic,” James said.
He studied James’s face. “I forgot about Liz. How is she doing?”
James shook his head. “She spent the night at the clinic…I…she’s pregnant and there have been some issues.”
Carlo nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything all right?”
“Yesterday evening everything was still fine.” James paled, and for a second Carlo’s gut twisted. If something had happened to Simone during her pregnancy with Sarah she would have dealt with it on her own. There was nothing he could do for the Kings. “If necessary you should evacuate to South Africa.”
“Thank you. The doctor didn’t think it necessary yesterday. I’ll see what he says this morning.” He heaved a sigh. “At least Liz has been able to get a good night’s rest.”
“I heard about the other incidents at Rufiji. I wasn’t aware of them until yesterday.”
James huffed. “It all was rather petty until the last one. It upset Liz that it was a pregnant dik-dik that was slaughtered.”
“Understandably. It seemed to be aimed solely at her.” He met James’s gaze steadily.
“Why are you looking for Simone, Mr. Carlevaro? It sounds serious.”
Carlo told him what he knew, about the video clip and Simone’s consequent resignation.
The color drained from James’s face. “She told us nothing yesterday! Resigning!” He gulped. “I thought she’d be promoted to fleet manager.”
“The other candidate will be promoted,” Carlo said, not wanting to share private details of Simone’s life or future.
“Ross,” James said blandly. “Ross O’Connor is the other candidate.” He cursed under his breath. “At least he’ll stop harassing Liz now. Ever since you arrived he’s been phoning Liz to find out what Simone’s doing, where you are flying next.”
“Why would he phone Liz?”
“They’re brother and sister.”
Carlo digested this information but shrugged it off. The safari business tended to be nepotistic, and he couldn’t point a finger at that, heading a family business.
“He never phones us, we hardly see him, but this past week—” James shook his head. “He’s anxious about the promotion. It’s a bad time to have everything in shambles, now with the army blocking Rufiji and—” He looked at Carlo. “Have you heard that they also parked an army truck at our Ruaha airstrip?”
Carlo frowned. “No, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Angelo sent out a message last night about Ruaha to the other lodge managers—”
“The email must have gone through while I was flying,” Carlo said. It was more likely that Angelo had chosen not to let him know. “For all I care, they can bulldoze both lodges at the moment. I need to get to Simone.”
James raised his eyebrows at his response. “But…this video…do you suspect Simone is involved in the poaching?”
“No, she’s been set up.” He glanced at the door.
“Mind if I walk you to your car?”
“Not at all.”
They walked out of the apartment and James closed the door. “Liz has been skittish. As much as I hate to say this, I’m glad we had a valid medical reason to leave the lodge yesterday.”
“What has been happening at the camp would have been valid reason enough for me.” He blew out a deep sigh. “I wish you’d raised it during our initial meeting,” Carlo said as they took the stairs.
They stopped in the empty lobby.
“On Monday it was the shock of having you all on our doorstep, days after Peppe’s heart attack, that got to me. And then seeing the photos.” James swallowed audibly, staring through the glass doors that led out to the parking lot.
From James’s nervous stance there was more. “Fair enough.”
“It wasn’t the right time or place.” James didn’t move, and he waited for him to carry on. “As you know, we’ve been tracking the poaching ever since we noticed the increase.” He paused as if he wasn’t sure he should go on.
“Yes?” Carlo prompted him, sensing James had something important he wanted to share.
“One full moon when we thought they would strike I went out with one of the rangers. Trying to find a needle in a haystack. After four hours we were on our way home when we ran into some Land Rover trouble close to the airstrip. We didn’t think much of it and got busy fixing the problem.”
“As one does,” Carlo said drily. Only the mad and the cocksure would get out of a vehicle in the Selous in the dead of night to fix an engine issue.
“As one does.” James grinned as if he’d read his mind. “I only became aware of the unnatural silence around us when the other ranger shushed me and we doused the torches. It was after two in the morning, but we heard talking, subdued and at intervals. Whoever approached us was unaware of our presence as we’d been there for some time. The wind carried their voices to us before they could notice us. There were four of them, speaking Swahili, and they passed without seeing us, about fifty meters away. They carried something heavy, curvy. We were too shocked to move, them being so close to the lodge and to the airstrip.”
“And that’s when you started suspecting things were happening there which we were previously unaware of,” Carlo said as the picture unfolded in his mind’s eye. “It was you who took those photos that were sent to Peppe anonymously.”
“Yes.” He paused. “It took me two weeks after that initial sighting to get a photo opportunity. I tried to get it to Peppe as soon as possible, and Liz’s check-up at the clinic in Dar was the perfect opportunity.” He wiped at his brow, where a fine sheen of sweat had settled between the furrows on his forehead. “Peppe’s heart attack…I regret—” James dropped his head.
Carlo nodded with a sigh. “The photos were not the sole contributing factor.” He gave James a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, because he was so devastated. “Why didn’t you reveal yourself sooner?”
“Liz doesn’t know. She’s too chatty. I didn’t want her to know about what we saw or the photos, in case she let something slip.” He rubbed his forehead and sighed. “The stalking started right after we spotted the poachers. I had to be careful, dealing with criminals. That they would try to get to me through my wife!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.”
“And with her being pregnant…it added another dimension to the issue.” James drew in a sharp breath. “I suspect the poachers might have seen us that first night, despite our keeping quiet and hiding. It must have been when we drove home two hours later. We had no idea where they went after their visit to the airstrip, but they must have seen us.”
Dread coiled in his stomach. How far would the poachers go to protect their scheme? “The hunter becomes the hunted.”
James nodded. “Something like that. Liz thought those incidents were linked to a disgruntled employee, someone I’ve given a written warning…or fired, who perceived it as an unfair dismissal.” He glanced away, his mouth pulled in disgust. “But this gazelle yesterday morning. It had gone too far.”
“I agree,” Carlo said as he shook his head. “Someone is warning you to back off.”
“Yes.”
“But who?”
James shrugged. “I hate to think that a pregnant gazelle was put there on purpose.” He dropped his gaze. “You see, the only people we’ve told about Liz’s pregnancy are her family and mine.”
Carlo said nothing. Simone had known Liz was pregnant, and he had overheard Liz’s comments in front of the kitchen staff. Liz was too chatty, indeed. James’s notion that no one else knew about Liz’s pregnancy was far-fetched. “Liz told Simone.”
“Which makes her the only one outside our families who knows.”
That James was insinuating that Simone was involved in stowing pregnant kill in Liz’s kitchen was wasting his time. Carlo shook his head and checked his watch, getting anxious to leave.
“That’s everything you know?”
James nodded.
“I’ve got to go.”
James held out his hand and they shook briefly. “I hope this gets resolved soon.”
“The lodge is closed for two weeks to sort this out,” Carlo said, his focus returning to Simone and the need to find her. As he got into the taxi he shot a last glance at James, but he’d turned away and was heading back to the lobby.
As the taxi drove up the coast out of the northern suburbs of Dar es Salaam his mind kept on coming back to everything James had said. How far had the news of the poaching traveled? Had the insider at Carlevaro Air heard that they were investigating the matter? Right now, the only information the staff could have was that their airstrips were blocked, not the reason why. He had sworn Michael Flynn and his girlfriend to silence, for what it was worth. The fact that Michael had flown that tusk two days ago was proof that, at that point in time, the poachers didn’t know their cover was blown. He checked his watch; it was past seven in the morning and the fleet manager would be at the Carlevaro Air office. He dialed his number.
“Has any pilot called in sick today? Or is anyone absent without leave?” he asked the fleet manager. If the insider were aware of the leak, he would have disappeared by now.
“No. Everybody is accounted for.”
“Ross O’Connor?” Carlo asked.
“He clocked in as usual. He’s on standby today. We’ll probably start the handover process later if nothing comes up.”
“Good,” he said and rang off, not quite sure if that was the information he was looking for. Only one thing was for sure—time was running out. He took his laptop bag and pulled out the stack of graphs he’d worked on a few days before to go through them again.