Tusker Read online

  Harry heard the most dreadful yelling and screaming and despite being some way from the podo tree he was aware of an increasingly loud, angry buzzing. Two dark shapes crashed through the undergrowth as the marksmen retreated to the comparative safety of the stream. They splashed unceremoniously into the water and all of them ducked their heads under the surface holding their breath for as long as they could.

  As he felt his lungs about to burst Harry raised his head, took a huge gulp of air and retreated under the surface again. The others were doing the same, nobody stupid enough to even risk a quick glance around. They repeated this for what seemed ages but in reality was about seven or eight minutes.

  Then very slowly Harry raised just his head out of the water and tried to work out what was going on. Occasional bees flickered overhead and there was still an angry buzzing on the far side of the waterhole but no sound of voices.

  He was suddenly alerted to the radio set he had left on the bank and eased himself out a little further to grab it.

  “Harry come in, are you there?” Before he could respond Samson’s urgent voice was crackling through the speaker again. “Harry what’s going on, over?”

  “Samson, whatever you do just stay away from the waterhole area. We are safe for the moment.”

  “But we heard gunfire and then nothing and that already seems ages ago!”

  “I’ll explain but not now…” He suddenly felt a searing pain in his left ear, threw the radio back on the bank and plunged his throbbing head below the surface. Harry had been stung before but not on his head or by an especially angry bee. He couldn’t believe the needle like pain that now seemed the only sensation in his body.

  He peered cautiously above the surface again, alert to any sound or movement that might indicate another attack. The others were still in the water up to their necks; Bethwell, much to the amusement of the others, had been stung twice but they had escaped.

  Slowly they pulled themselves up onto the bank and took stock of the situation. The sound of the bees had almost died away.

  Harry picked up the radio and explained to Samson what had happened. There was no sign of human movement under the podo tree but that meant nothing, they still needed to take great care. Harry gave Samson their position and they waited for those from the other vehicle to join them.

  It was a while before they arrived, silent but recognizable shadows moving easily through the trees. Occasional bees came their way but seemed to show little interest in them now. Nevertheless, everyone agreed it was still too dangerous to move towards the area where they had last seen the poachers. They posted sentries to watch and then simply waited.

  Harry was delighted that for the moment at least the threat of the poachers seemed to have disappeared but his ear felt twice the size of normal, his head pounded and he realised how cold he felt from being immersed in the water for so long.

  It was agreed that Kilifi should take a closer look. He disappeared silently into the trees, working his way cautiously round to the far side of the waterhole. Ever alert but silent, the others waited for his return.

  After what seemed an age he reappeared, a grim smile on his face.

  “Come,” he said. “There is a sight that will make your heart glad, but take care.”

  Cautiously they crossed the clearing, aware of a slight lightening of the sky in the east. Dawn could not be far away. A few bees buzzed unthreateningly near the ground and the broken nest but that was not what drew their attention.

  Five men lay motionless on the forest floor, their bodies curled up in a defensive position with hands over their faces. Every inch of visible skin was covered by large, angry lumps, the green camouflage trousers and tops they were wearing would definitely be hiding similar evidence of a frenzied attack. They would have had little chance, vastly outnumbered and having nothing to fight back with they had literally been stung to death.

  “Serves them right,” said Samson. “That’s another five poachers who won’t be after our elephants. I hope their deaths were as painful as they look.”

  Kilifi nodded his wise head. “I have known men to die from bee stings but never like this. Then again who has a bees’ nest falling on them in the night?”

  “Down here, come and see,” shouted Bethwell. They ran down the slope away from the waterhole where two further bodies were splayed out on the ground, their AK-47s, which for once had offered no protection, by their sides.

  “Looks like they might almost have escaped,” said Harry, “but hard to move faster than a swarm of bees! That makes seven. Mike said he thought there were eight, let’s search more widely.”

  He tried to make contact with both Mike and his uncle again but frustratingly with no success. The radios themselves were old, ex-military, but their range was also very limited and worked on line of sight, so frequently people were uncontactable in this steep terrain. Harry had tried to persuade Jim to build a repeater mast near the top of the escarpment but had been informed that funds weren’t available.

  Despite the increased visibility with the early morning light they couldn’t find any other bodies. However, Kilifi had been examining the ground carefully. “Look,” he said, “you can see where they came up along the ridge but the stony ground makes it difficult to be sure of their numbers. There are prints of boots but the sole markings are so similar it isn’t easy to get a clear picture.”

  Suddenly he stiffened as though he had somehow picked up the scent of his prey. The others gathered round and peered at the ground. “Here,” he said, his face alive with excitement, “there is a single set of prints heading back towards the northern border and they are easy to follow because they belong to someone with a bad right leg.”

  Harry was always amazed by Kilifi’s remarkable tracking skills. He looked at the ground and at first saw nothing and then he made out the marks of a left footed boot print and to its right a very different mark as though something was being dragged. This was repeated over and over again and it became obvious, even to a novice like Harry, that they were following the tracks of someone moving away from the bodies and heading north.

  “These are very recent,” said Kilifi. “There is often a morning wind up here that would soon blow away these print marks. The person we are following is moving with difficulty, the left print is deep because he is putting most of his weight on it and the dragging mark on the other side is the toe of his right boot which obviously can’t take too much load. Whoever he is, there is a fifty-fifty chance we can catch up with him before he reaches our border.”

  “Samson why don’t you stay here with your crew and try to make contact with Jim to tell him what has happened and we will follow the tracks.”

  Samson looked disappointed but saw the sense in what Harry said. “Good luck, hope you get to him in time.”

  Kilifi needed no encouragement. If they managed to catch the eighth man the chances were they would have the whole poaching team and importantly he might well be able to tell them crucial information that could lead to those higher up the poaching chain.

  The sun was getting up and with the heat and the chase; Harry’s clothes were almost dry already. Kilifi rarely paused, knowing how vital it was not to let this individual escape. The tree line was thinning, giving them a much better view of the land ahead. Apart from some large rocks there was nowhere to hide.

  Almost instantly they saw their man. Despite the distance they could make out his lopsided movement. “I could almost have a good shot at him from here,” said Kilifi but Harry was reluctant to take that course of action. His uncle had warned him that they weren’t the police or KWS and so shooting someone, despite all they might have tried to do, was the very last option.

  They increased the pace. There was no need for Kilifi’s tracking skills now they just needed to get to him before Uwingoni’s border with the outside world.

  They scrambled down the loose rock screed, finding it hard to keep their balance with the constant movement under their feet.

/>   Their quarry had looked behind him and despite the obviously damaged leg increased his speed.

  Harry could make out a vehicle on the other side of the fence. It was an open four-wheel drive and he could see there was nobody in it but there was no doubt where their man was heading. That must be what the poachers came in thought Harry and if he has the keys he might well be away before they could reach him. That spurred him on. Despite the experience of the African bush that the others had, he was younger and faster than them. He was really closing the gap but he needed to, it would be a close-run thing.

  His lungs were working overtime, screaming for more oxygen but he was almost on his man, just one final push. As he launched himself, arms outstretched, shoulder aiming just above the poacher’s knees, he felt certain he would bring him down.

  They fell together in a crunching, jarring crash, rolling over several times on the rock-strewn surface.

  As Harry looked into the other man’s face for the first time, he instinctively felt himself recoil. Not surprisingly there were a number of angry bee stings strewn across his skin, although nothing as extreme as the others, but it was his eyes that held Harry. They radiated pure evil, red rimmed with dark swirling centres that seemed to draw him in and repulse him at the same time.

  A fist slammed into his chin and he instinctively threw up his hands to protect his face. His sole purpose had been to catch his man and strangely he realised that he had thought no further than that or what might follow.

  The early sunlight caught the blade in his opponent’s right hand and Harry leapt back. A curse in a language he didn’t recognise screamed from the dark hole that was his mouth. Harry was prepared for the lunge and scrabbled out of the way but recognised that he was in trouble and out of his league.

  Again he retreated, this time catching his heel on a large rock, putting him off balance. The look of triumph on the poacher’s face told him all he needed to know as he fell clattering onto the hard surface.

  He curled into a protective ball and closed his eyes but the blow never came. Instead he heard a loud crunch and the crash of another body hitting the rocks. When he looked up a concerned Bethwell was standing over him. Harry smiled nervously back and saw the body of his would-be assassin sprawled to his side.

  “He’ll have a headache for a few days,” smiled Bethwell. “The butts of these old rifles come in handy sometimes.”

  The others arrived all out of breath but their obvious pleasure at seeing that Harry was uninjured was evident. Kilifi aimed a kick at the body’s ribs and looked suitably pleased when it emitted a loud groan.

  “Somali scum,” he sneered. “I might have guessed they would be up to their necks in poaching. They don’t care for anyone or anything except themselves. No doubt the ivory would have paid for more weapons for whichever war lord or crazy religious group he works for.”

  They hauled him roughly to his feet and bound his hands behind his back. His hatred and arrogance were so visible as he glared at Harry, cursing once again in his native tongue, but the others took no notice as they made him crouch down by the boundary ditch.

  The distant sound of an engine caused everyone to tense and as they looked west they could see a large dust cloud, indicating a vehicle heading their way at high speed. Rifles were unslung as the small group waited to see whether it was friend or foe.

  Kilifi raised his worn binoculars and squinted towards the rising sun. With his smile came a visible relaxation of the others.

  The battered, sand-coloured 110 Land Rover with a worn elephant image that could clearly be seen on the door announced it as belonging to Uwingoni. It skidded to a halt in front of them and out jumped the driver, a small, strongly built man with piercing blue eyes who took in the scene in an instant.

  As Jim strode towards them everyone smiled. He may not have been full of compliments to his men but they liked and respected him and the feeling was mutual.

  “What have we here Bethwell?” he inquired as he looked down at the scowling Somali. The events of the last couple of hours were recounted as quickly and simply as possible. Jim enjoyed a long tale round a campfire in the evening but when it was a matter that concerned his beloved Uwingoni he wanted things short and precise and they all knew that.

  When they recounted Harry’s idea about the bees, half a smile crossed his face but he said nothing.

  “You were lucky with this one Harry. Just as well. What would I have told your father if that knife had moved a little quicker than it did?” Harry didn’t need reminding, he had already played everything back in his mind several times.

  The other door of the Land Rover opened and out limped Mike, his uncle’s trusted lieutenant, tall and lanky with a slow, slightly awkward way of speaking. He was in many ways everything Jim was not but they had been friends since school and both shared a passion for preserving African wildlife.

  “Useless radios,” he grumbled. “With the escarpment in the way we were always going to struggle to stay in touch.”

  “I know,” replied Harry, “but at least we knew to look for an eighth man before we lost contact. We really must try to update our communications though.”

  “We must do lots of things Harry,” interrupted Jim, “but unfortunately they all cost money.”

  Harry knew that money was a constant problem, but he couldn’t understand why things were quite so bad; Aziz, his uncle’s finance manager, was always full of doom and gloom.

  “Bethwell get the Somali in the back of the Land Rover with a couple of your chaps and take him to the local police station. It’s quite a trek but I know Inspector Mwitu well and I am sure he has ways of finding out more about who is behind this from our friend over there. Mike you deal with the police, I’m going up to the waterhole. We will see you back at camp later.”

  Chapter Two

  The mood round the campfire could not have been more different from when they were last there. Everyone was smiling and the chatter was more like that of a family of preening superb starlings, as each man told the part he had played during the previous hours.

  Nearly everyone held tin mugs brimming with sweet, milky chai but Harry couldn’t get his taste buds round that and he had his hands cupped round his favourite Kenyan coffee. The smell of bacon sizzling on a huge pan on the fire was almost better than the taste that was to follow. Sweet potatoes cooked in the ashes round the side made an odd combination, but a truly tasty breakfast.

  Jim had smiled with grim satisfaction when they returned to the waterhole and the bodies of the poachers were slung like sacks of grain into the back of one of the Land Rovers. They would be handed over to the authorities later.

  When he heard the story in full he turned his gaze a little more intently on Harry as though he was looking at something he had not seen before. “Glad you remember some of my old stories.” Harry had shrugged; that was about as close to praise as he would get.

  After the meal Jim had summoned them all to a meeting. He was a great believer in keeping everyone in the know.

  “We are like a chain holding back this evil,” he said, “and of course that means we are only as strong as our weakest link.” Harry had heard this before, as had everyone else. His uncle was a little unimaginative with words but nevertheless, there was truth in what he said. There wasn’t a man there who wouldn’t give his all for the reserve and the precious wildlife in it.

  Before he had arrived in Kenya it had been lions and leopards that Harry had really wanted to see. Of course, he always relished the magic of watching them; the leopards solitary and beautiful but so secretive; the lions much easier, more open, majestic but lazy, rousing themselves only when their tummies grumbled. However, it was the elephants that had won a special place in his heart.

  On his second day at Uwingoni, Bethwell had taken him out for an early drive. It had been a shock to Harry’s system to get up before the sun but he had soon come to appreciate the pre-dawn magic.

  There had been a surprising chill in the air
but that was almost instantly forgotten once they had splashed across the little stream near camp.

  “This week Harry I will take you up to see the spring where this water begins. It comes bubbling out of the volcanic ground with the gentlest of sounds. I have never tasted anything so pure. Forget all the promises made on the bottles in the supermarket, this is so special. Even here, further down-stream it is good to drink, only a bit of baboon shit to spoil the taste.” Harry turned up his nose and Bethwell laughed. He felt instantly at ease, the pupil and the teacher, but Bethwell was unlike any teacher he had had before. Harry soon began to realise how amazing his knowledge was, but this wasn’t something learnt from books, rather from a life out in the African bush.

  Equally well Harry soon found that he did not need the facts repeated as he had done at school, rather he craved more; there wasn’t anything he didn’t want to know.

  Then there had been that special moment, one that he almost felt he had been waiting for all his life. Ironically he had been looking in the other direction when Bethwell had stopped the Land Rover and cut the engine, his hand moving to signify the need for quiet.

  Moving slowly out of the valley floor was a group of elephants; the sun throwing its new light across the far hills caught them as they made their way peacefully towards them. There were seven of them, one of the largest and the smallest together as the mother protected a calf in her shadow as they moved. There were two other larger elephants, their ears flapping gently as they walked and then three assorted youngsters that followed on behind. He couldn’t believe how close they were coming to the vehicle; he could actually hear the rumbling of their breathing and the calm swish of their legs against the long grass as they moved unhurriedly up the slope.

  The matriarch almost paused on the track no more than fifty meters from where they were, gave an inquisitive glance in their direction and without a break in her stride continued up the gentle incline, the others in tow, until they were swallowed by the trees and dense vegetation. Harry could play the whole thing back in his mind but what he remembered was that, for what seemed an age, neither of them spoke, simply lost in the moment.