Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller (15 page)

Dinner with Alma
and Hattie consisted of coconut bean soup, a salad of greens and tomatoes, and
ugali
, a kind of dough made from cornmeal. Afterward, Alma built a fire outside of the guest building where they gathered to share a drink.

Against the backdrop of impossibly brilliant stars, the maniacal laughter of hyenas, and the occasional roar of a lion, they drank lukewarm beer and shared stories. Alma and Hattie entertained them with tales of successfully reintroducing into the wild several of the animals they’d cared for through the years, of working to make the center self-sustaining by using wind power and installing solar panels, and growing their own produce, which they traded for other necessities like batteries and beer.

Leine spoke of her fascination with Tanzania’s wildlife, and of the near-miss with the pair of lions earlier that day. That brought on several stories of close encounters by the other three, each citing instances of what they assumed would be certain death but having something happen to save them in the nick of time. Derek swore by always having a six-pack of beer at the ready.

“One time, I was alone in the bush taking a piss and a lioness got a little too interested. My rifle was too far away to grab and all I had with me was a beer. So I shook it up real good and let it fly.” He laughed. “She didn’t like the spinning bottle, or the fizzy stuff that came out of it. Diverted her attention just long enough for me to go for my gun.”

“African Karma,” Alma said with a knowing look. “If you’re lucky enough to get out of that kind of situation alive it means you owe something.”

“To whom?” Leine asked.

“Ooh, she’s talking about the African spirits.” Hattie wiggled her fingers in the air and made a face, smiling as she did.

“Don’t you go dissing what you don’t understand, Miss Hattie,” Alma said, wagging her finger at the younger woman. “I’ve been living on this dark continent for a lot longer than you have and can’t begin to explain some of the goings-on around here.”

Hattie rolled her eyes and smiled affectionately at her mentor. “You keep telling me that, but I have yet to experience what you’re talking about.”

“Be glad, missy. You don’t want to be beholden to any spirits down here. They tend to go overboard in their demands.”

Eventually, talk turned to poaching and Leine and Derek described their encounter with the massacred elephants. Alma nodded, the lines around her eyes deepening.

“The official number’s over ten thousand elephants killed each year in Tanzania alone, but I’m certain it’s more than that. Illegal kills have risen to sixty-five percent of the population across Africa. At this rate, experts predict extinction within our lifetime. Maybe within the decade.”

“Economics are driving things again,” Hattie added.

“What do you mean, again?” Leine asked.

“Poaching was a huge problem back in the seventies and eighties,” Alma replied. “Supply far exceeded demand. We fought hard to save what was left, even enjoyed a twenty-year lull. But now things are ramping up again due to the rise of an elite economic market, the newly rich.” She let out a heavy sigh. “We’ll fight this one, too.”

“It’s not all doom, though. There are a couple of bright spots,” Hattie said. “There’s a push to educate wildlife rangers in the hardest hit areas, which appears to be helping. And a group of scientists and conservationists are using drones with night vision capabilities to track both poachers and elephants.”

“What about the legal or educational side of the equation?” Leine asked. “Reduce demand by strengthening laws against buying ivory and educate people on the cost of doing business as usual. Supplying the ivory won’t be as attractive.”

“For what it’s worth, the Chinese have begun a re-education campaign, but it’s not enough. Pardon my pun, but the punishment for buying non-certified ivory has no teeth.” Derek shook his head. “Look at Wang. The big smugglers will figure out how to slip illegal ivory through, especially with the amount it’s worth now. There’s always someone who’s willing to look the other way for a price. Believe me, I know.”

“It goes much deeper than just supply and demand, Claire,” Alma added. “What we need are more living-wage jobs. Eradicate the crushing poverty of the Tanzanian people and I guarantee the number of poachers will decline.” Alma leaned back in her chair. “Most people will do anything to feed their family. I can’t blame them.”

“But how do you explain the massacre we saw today?” Leine asked. “Dozens of elephants were slaughtered with automatic weapons. That’s a huge amount of ivory being moved for someone who only wants to feed his family. This looked like a concerted effort by a well-armed group of people. Efficient and ruthless.”

Alma and Derek exchanged looks.

“There’ve been rumors that terrorists have moved into the region and are slaughtering the elephants. They sell the ivory to fund their jihad,” she said. “Could be one reason we’re seeing more militant activity. Where there’s money…”

“If that’s the case, Africa’s fucked.” Derek folded his arms, eyes blazing with anger.

“Don’t be such a nihilist, Derek,” Alma scolded. “The possibility isn’t good, obviously, but if the Chinese take the rumors seriously, they just might do something about it. They don’t want to lose ‘their’ ivory to a pack of terrorists.”

“Knowing Wang, I’m certain he’d figure out a way do business with them,” Derek muttered.

“As long as people are starving, there will always be a black market. At least we can try.” Alma focused her attention on Derek. “Now it’s your turn. What are you two doing here? And don’t tell me you’re on holiday and you wanted to take Claire on safari.”

Derek shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. Leine answered the older woman.

“I’m looking for someone’s daughter, and Derek has agreed to help me find her.”

Alma shifted her glance from Derek to Leine. “And you’ve tracked her here?” she asked.

“We’re pretty sure she was sold to a man named Victor Wang to work in his camp.”

Hattie frowned. “Wang is not someone you want to deal with, believe me.”

“You know him?” Leine asked.

“Oh, yeah. We know him.” Hattie sat back and crossed her arms. “He’s supposedly starting up a rehabilitation center. Right.”

“Wang’s never helped anything or anybody other than Wang,” Alma added. “He has a few key politicians in his pocket and can push through most anything he wants, including killing endangered species with impunity. It’s why his place is known as Camp Kill.”

“He stole our grant.” Hattie spat out the words.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “The one from SWI?”

Alma nodded. “That’s the one.”

Derek turned to Leine. “Save Wildlife International is a huge umbrella non-profit dedicated to preserving wildlife around the globe. If Wang was able to detour the grant promised to Rafiki, then he has more pull than I thought.”

“More like his friend does. He’s the head of their African division.” Alma shrugged. “We don’t have the resources to fight him.”

Hattie added, “We don’t have the resources, period.”

“All this talk of Wang and his shady business practices has made me tired.” Alma stood up and rubbed her back. “It’s well past my bedtime, ladies and gentleman. Hattie will show you where you’ll be sleeping tonight.” She pulled her wrap closer and gave Derek a wistful smile. “Think about what I said, Derek. We could use your expertise here at Rafiki.”

She turned to Leine and bowed, her hands in prayer pose. “I wish you peaceful dreams, Claire. Thank you for being here.” With that, she walked toward the larger building, the inky darkness swallowing her whole.

***

Leine asked to borrow the Center’s sat phone and walked out to the Rover for some privacy. It was close to noon Santa’s time, and she hadn’t contacted the homicide detective since she’d sent the message from the cyber café in Dar. The events of the day produced a powerful need to check in with him.

“Jesus, Leine, where the hell are you?” Santa’s tone wasn’t what she would call happy. In fact, he sounded angrier than the time she called him after being shot in Tijuana.

“Shh, Santa. Everything’s fine. I’m fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Leine tamped down the emotion rising in her chest. Between the lack of a good night’s sleep and the scene with the slaughtered elephants, not to mention almost being lunch for a couple of lions, she was emotionally and physically drained.

Santa’s tone changed to one of concern. “Are you all right? You don’t sound so great.”

Leine smiled. Leave it to Santa to switch from raging bull to mother hen in an instant. Living with someone able to change direction on a dime was disconcerting to be sure, but never boring.

“Like I said, everything’s fine. I’ll talk to you about it all when I get back.”

“Lou told me you found Kylie and you’re going after some triad’s business.”

Great. Thanks, Lou.

“Victor Wang. Apparently he supplies women to clients at an illegal hunting camp he owns here in Tanzania. We’re close.”

“
We’re
close? Who’s with you?”

“A former poacher named Derek who crossed Wang. Wang was transporting him on the same ship and was going to sell him to the highest bidder.”

“A poacher? Nice. You couldn’t leave the guy to his fate?”

“Not really. It’s a long story. Let’s just say we needed each other to escape. He’s been useful—he knows the area, and Wang, well.”

“Watch him, Leine. Poachers aren’t normally what you’d call trustworthy.”

“You know, I wasn’t aware of that. Could you enlighten me further, oh wise one?” Leine tried to keep herself from laughing but failed miserably.

“Okay, fine. I deserved that.” Santa chuckled. “God, it’s good to hear your voice. This being apart is
no bueno
.”

“Agreed. Have you ever been to Tanzania? It’s an amazing place, even given the circumstances. And heart wrenching.”

“Haven’t had the pleasure. Why heart wrenching?”

“We rolled up on an elephant massacre today. They used machine guns. Mowed down an entire family just for the ivory.”

“That had to be hard to see,” Santa said. “Sorry, L.”

“Rumor has it terrorists are behind it. All to fund a jihad doomed to failure. What a waste.”

“Yeah.” Santa paused a few beats. “Just so we’re clear, you’re not thinking about going after the jihadists, right?”

Leine almost burst out laughing. “No, Santa. I’m here to find Kylie. Nothing more.”

“Okay, good.” The relief in Santa’s voice was palpable. Leine smiled.

“I love you, Santiago Jensen. Remember that.”

“I love you, too, Leine Basso. Come home soon.”

Leine ended the call and returned the phone. She walked back to the fire, thinking about Santa and her daughter, missing her life.

Kylie finished drying
the last kettle and placed it behind the curtained cupboard in the tent that served as the kitchen. It was late, and the guests had all retired for the evening except the owner and his friend, who, rumor had it, was a billionaire with a capital B.

The camp was luxurious. The guest’s quarters had been erected on top of wooden platforms and each had its own
en suite
. The sheets, which Kylie helped wash, were high thread count and the nicest she’d ever seen. One tent was dedicated to wine, with two temperature-controlled chillers—one for red, one for white. Guests had their choice of high-end liquor and Cuban cigars, dined on fine china, and drank from delicate crystal. Everything Kylie and the rest of the workers did was behind the scenes. They were warned to never show themselves—obviously to reduce the possibility of any of them seeking help, either by escaping or sending a message to a family member.

Earlier in the evening, Kylie had been asked by another worker to deliver a bottle of wine to the two men sitting at the blazing campfire, sipping cognac and smoking cigars while they talked. The owner, a well-dressed Chinese man named Victor Wang, had become angry and grabbed Kylie by the arm, dragging her back behind the kitchen to where Ghanima, head of the kitchen staff, was prepping for the next day. Wang screamed at the woman to keep her staff away from the guests, making Kylie a new enemy. In retaliation, Ghanima put Kylie on pots and pans duty, and gave her the most arduous chores she could find.

At first, Kylie had been relieved to be assigned domestic duty when she arrived at the camp rather than being put into service in other ways. But that relief was short-lived. From sunup to sundown, she worked until her fingers bled and her vision blurred; otherwise she risked painful retribution. Punishment could take many forms, from having her ration of food taken away to actual flogging, depending on the infraction. The first time she witnessed someone tied to a tree and beaten, Kylie had to stop herself from running at the person holding the whip. The prison camp, as most of the workers referred to the place, was an unrelenting
Groundhog Day
. Only things didn’t get better like in the movie. They got worse.

Kylie untied her apron and hung it on a hook next to the massive grill. That night guests had feasted on gazelle, water buffalo, and rhino, although Kylie was pretty sure the last dish was considered an endangered species. Although tempted, she didn’t bring up the legality of serving something about to go extinct. Ghanima would be only too happy to have a reason to tie her to a tree and slice her back to bloody strips.

At least the nights weren’t cold. Most of the women were locked in a hut, crowded together until morning with only a thin blanket between them and the uncompromising dirt floor. The crowded conditions acted as efficient insulation, although this time of year was warm, even in the evenings. The other people in the hut gave Kylie some comfort every time she heard a lion’s roar or screaming baboons. No way would she venture into the dark alone. The wilderness around them was an effective escape deterrent, at least for Kylie.

There were other dangers. One night Kylie had awoken to a hand over her mouth as one of the male laborers, who wasn’t even supposed to be inside the hut, tried to take off her clothing. Terrified, Kylie had reacted by kicking him in the groin as hard as she could. The next day, the man was nowhere to be found. Kylie didn’t ask where he’d gone. Now, she rarely slept more than a few minutes at a time.

She signaled to the guard that she was ready to go and started down the wooden path toward the sleeping hut, with him following close behind. They passed a newly built enclosure, and Kylie ran her hand along the solid wood walls. Strange sounds could occasionally be heard behind the fence, but it was hard to tell what they were.

Kylie had been at the camp long enough for the mental cotton of self-delusion to wear off. Each day she clawed through the despair and depression now taking its place, trying to keep the tiniest thread of hope alive. But there was no one to go to for help; no cops, no lawyers, no recourse, and the illusion of seeing her mother’s friend, Leine, on the ship was just that—an illusion. One man ruled this small corner of the world, and did so without regard to its inhabitants. Before, she couldn’t imagine a place this miserable.

She could now.

***

After breakfast dishes the next morning, Ubaya, the guard assigned to the kitchen, ordered Kylie to gather together a box of food and several containers of water and take them to the new enclosure. Eager to see more of the camp, Kylie piled the provisions on top of a small cart and set off along the gravel path. Another guard named Lek followed behind her.

The walls were several feet high and made of rough, dark wood. Kylie followed the wall, eventually arriving at a barred, metal gate secured with a padlock. On the other side of the bars was an arena with a straw-covered dirt floor. Lek produced a ring of keys and unlocked the gate, allowing Kylie through.

“Don’t take too long,” he warned. “I’ll be right outside.” Unassisted, Kylie muscled the cart inside, and he swung the gate closed.

A young woman with long, dark hair sat on the straw in the middle of the arena, surrounded by five or six lion cubs, all vying for her attention. The woman held something up with her hand and they tumbled over themselves trying to be the first to get at whatever it was.

Forgetting herself for the moment, Kylie giggled at the cubs’ antics. The young woman turned toward her at the noise. Kylie smiled. The woman gave each cub something to eat before she climbed to her feet and walked over.

“I didn’t think they let anyone walk freely here,” she said.

“They don’t. A guard is outside.” Kylie waved at the supplies on the cart. “Where would you like these?”

“Over there is fine.” The woman nodded toward a small enclosure. She helped Kylie roll the cart closer, and started to unload the items.

“The cubs are adorable,” Kylie said. “What will happen to them?”

The woman stiffened and turned away, wiping at her eyes.

Kylie’s insides twisted at her reaction. She put down the bag of rice she was holding and offered her hand. “I’m Kylie.”

The other woman gave her a wary smile as she shook it and answered, “Zara.”

“Do they ever let you out of here?” Kylie assumed Zara was a prisoner like herself but refrained from mentioning it.

“They let me out at night.” She looked down at her bare feet. “But I can only walk freely while I’m in here. They wrap my ankles in heavy chains otherwise.”

“Where are you from?”

The ghost of a smile crossed Zara’s lips. “I was working at a wildlife conservation center before…before I was brought here. We took care of sick and abandoned wildlife, reintroducing them into the wild when we could.”

“That’s so cool. Did you get to work with babies like you do here?” Kylie asked, nodding at the lion cubs.

“Yes.” Zara turned to watch them play fighting with each other.

“Will they let those little guys go, too?” She couldn’t help asking, even though Zara’s initial reaction suggested the answer wasn’t good.

“He says he will, but I don’t think so.”

“You mean Victor Wang?” Kylie asked. One of the cubs crouched low, preparing to attack a piece of straw sticking up out of the ground.

Zara nodded. “Wang’s only interested in money. Rafiki, the center I worked for, relied solely on donations, and even then we had to cut corners. Wildlife rehabilitation is not a money-making enterprise.” She cocked her head. “Where are you from?”

“California.” Kylie’s chest contracted.
Home
.

The gate clanked open, and Lek poked his head in. “Hurry up,” he said, his annoyance obvious.

“Almost finished,” Zara called. She and Kylie quickly put away the rest of the supplies.

“I hope I can come back to see you,” Kylie said.

“Me too.”

Kylie wheeled the cart to where Lek waited. He locked the gate behind them and followed her back to the kitchen area. Ghanima was waiting for them. The expression on the older woman’s face told Kylie she wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around Kylie’s neck and squeeze until the breath left her body. Ubaya stood behind her, a smug look on his face.

His manipulation was clear. Lek lost no time hustling out of the tent. Kylie’s stomach did a flip at his abandonment, and she lowered her gaze to the ground, hoping her look of contrition would help to alleviate her punishment.

“Who give you permission to leave?” Ghanima’s voice shook with suppressed rage.

“He did.” Kylie glanced at the man standing behind her accuser. Ubaya glared at her, his eyes resembling two black holes.

Ghanima stepped forward and gripped Kylie by the arm.

“You
not
take orders from anyone but me. Ever,” she said, her voice dripping menace. “Come.” She yanked Kylie after her and Ubaya followed.

They walked past the outskirts of the camp to another, smaller section of tents. The main camp may have been beautiful, but this was extraordinary.

Three large, colorful canvas tents with rich, dark wood floors stood at the center of a clearing. A small grouping of curtained huts about the size of beach cabanas were scattered throughout, each with two or three comfortable-looking chairs in front, grouped around a raised fire pit. Discreet solar lighting hugged several of the trees, and a soothing fountain bubbled in the background.

Ghanima shoved Kylie up the steps of the largest tent, stopping just outside of the entrance. Deep, rich Persian rugs covered the floors.

“Mistah Wang. It is Ghanima from the kitchen.”

The older woman was breathing heavily from the forced march and perspiration slid down her face and onto her neck. Kylie lowered her gaze to the ground, not wanting to court her wrath. The two women waited while Ubaya stood sentry a few feet away. There was movement inside the tent, and a few moments later Victor Wang appeared wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe with a large W embroidered in black across the chest.

“What is it?” he asked, his tone conveying his unhappiness at being disturbed.

Ghanima bowed and lowered her gaze. “Mistah Wang, please forgive me for bothering, but this girl” —she nodded at Kylie— “is bad trouble. This girl no listen to what Ghanima say and go wherever she want. Ghanima ask permission to punish this girl.”

Wang studied Kylie for a moment, sucking on his teeth as he did so. “Maybe she’ll listen when you put the chains on her.”

Ghanima smiled and nodded, her gaze still lowered. “Yes, sir, Mistah Wang. Beg pardon, but can Ghanima ask one more favor?”

Wang sighed. “And that is?”

“Ghanima would like to stake this girl.”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with running the camp, you can. Now, leave.” Wang walked inside the tent and pulled back the curtain surrounding the bed. Sapphire was lying on her side, and their gazes met. Kylie blinked in surprise at the woman who had been with her in the cell in Bangkok. Before Kylie could say anything, Ghanima gripped her by the arm and dragged her off the platform and down the stairs, headed back to the main camp.