Black Horn (7 page)

On the first evening, she had looked up at him across the large refectory table. He
wore thick horn-rimmed spectacles which, she thought, suited him.

She had remarked, "This is a wild situation. Here I am, Chinese, reading the
English stuff and there you are, a gweilo, reading the Chinese."

He said seriously, "Lucy, your father was a very learned man, much more learned
than I had known. Did he ever actually practise medicine?"

"No.
Only in an emergency. Soon after he left John Hopkins, his father died and left
him a substantial sum of money. His first love had always been pure research
and so he never really had to make a living as a doctor. He returned to Hong
Kong, bought this house and set up his laboratory and library and study. He
made many important discoveries and, as you know, wrote several books. He was a
happy man in all his work and in all his life. Lately, he had become fascinated
with the advent of genetic engineering, because he was able to show that many
traditional Chinese medicines thousands of years old have a scientific
basis." She gestured at an old desk in the corner, on which sat a word
processor. "He was half way through a book on the subject when he was
murdered. It's my job now to make sure that all his papers and research go to
the right people, so that it can be continued."

Chapman
went back to studying his file. She pulled another box file in front of her.
Her father's handwritten words were on the front. There were just two of them:
'Rhino Horn'. Underneath were the Chinese characters. It was a thick
file and, after she had leafed through it for half an hour, she suddenly lifted
her head and said, "Colin, I think I have something."

Half an
hour later, Colin said, "That must be the connection." He was sitting
beside her. He leaned back in his chair and spoke out loud, but as though
talking to himself. "For centuries, it has been firmly believed by the
Chinese that the horn of the rhino is a potent aphrodisiac. The powder made
from that horn has always been tremendously expensive as wealthy old Chinese
men try to satisfy their young concubines. But now, with the rhino almost facing
extinction through poaching, that powder has become the most precious substance
on earth. Rhino horn is also used by Yemenis for ornamental dagger handles, but
the most valuable market is here in Hong Kong and in Taiwan. That market is
controlled by one Triad... the 14K."

Colin
had extracted one letter from the file. It was in English and dated one month
earlier. He read it out loud:

'My dear Cliff, I have some truly astonishing news, and since you
were such a vital part of my project, I hasten to write. It was four months ago when
you were able to obtain for me the fifty grams of black rhino horn. I had put aside
most of my other projects while I worked on it. My experiments came to fruition at
about two o'clock this morning, when I discovered that, far from being an
aphrodisiac, the substance actually diminishes male potency and contains a
carcinogenic-causing agent called Hetromygloten. The thing is, I cannot
understand why it contains such an agent. Then it occurred to me that perhaps
it came into the fibrous hair of the horn through certain grasses or plants
that are part of the black rhino's diet. Naturally, I have no knowledge of that
diet, but I'm sure you do. Of course, it might also be in minerals contained in
the water that they consume or in the soil of their habitat.'

'I'm
sure that my findings have deep implications. As I write this, I have beside me
your letter of the 26th, where you state that the fight against the poachers is
being lost and that even the programme to dart the black rhinos and then
de-horn them is proving futile, since poachers still kill them because it saves
tracking a useless animal. If, however, my countrymen can be convinced that by
imbibing even a small particle of black rhino horn their sexual potency will be
markedly reduced and that they also risk cancer -- then the market for it will
cease immediately. For this campaign, we will need substantial funds, but I'm
sure that this will be forthcoming from worldwide conservation organisations
and perhaps certain interested governments. However, the next step must be that
I do more work on the subject and then publish an academic article in Nature.
That article can then be quoted in newspapers and magazines as part of the
educational campaign.'

'As you
well know, such things take time. It could be six months or even a year. I know
from your letter that the black rhino does not have much time and so I have a
ploy which might end the trading almost immediately. I phoned an old British
acquaintance of mine who had recently retired from the Hong Kong police force,
and asked him which Triad gang would have control of that particular trade. He
immediately made enquiries with the Anti-Triad Branch, who told him that,
without doubt, the 14K is the largest, most dangerous and has worldwide
connections. It is headed by a man called Tommy Mo Lau Wong.'

'I
intend to communicate with this Tommy Mo and inform him of my findings and warn
him that, unless the business ceases forthwith, a large advertising campaign
will shortly appear with my findings. Like any astute Chinese business man,
Tommy Mo will realise that any rhino horn powder he is holding, or has in the
pipeline, will become worthless. He will immediately sell all his stocks and
not take any more. Obviously, if this works, the expensive advertising campaign
will not be needed and the money can be used elsewhere. I will let you know the
result, if any. Again, my thanks for your considerable help. With warmest
wishes, Kwok Ling Fong.'

Chapman turned to look at Lucy and said, "I'm afraid that, like most academics and
scientists, your father was somewhat naive about the real world out there."

She nodded. "I'm afraid he was... He must have made contact with Tommy Mo, who
had him murdered and then tried to burn the evidence." She shook her head and said,
"To think that my whole family was murdered just because of some animal horn."

"Not just that," Chapman answered. "Although rhino horn powder has a huge
value per gram, there is very little of it around. The turnover in that
business would have been relatively small-beer compared to the 14K's total
turnover... You must understand the Triad mind. Your father threatened Tommy
Mo. That itself was reason enough to have him killed, together with your mother
and brother. Tommy Mo would have made it known among the 14K why he had your
father killed ... It is their way." He turned back to the letter and read
out the name of the addressee. "'Cliff Coppen, c/o The Ministry of
Natural Resources and Tourism, Harare, Zimbabwe'." He then said
thoughtfully, "There is no reply in the file... which is strange because,
with such news, you would have thought there would have been."

"What now?"

The
Englishman looked at his watch.

"It
will not be hard to find out who the recently retired policeman was. If he did
phone anybody in my department, the call should have been logged." He
tapped the file. "At the date of your father's letter to Coppen, I was out
of the colony." Again, he glanced at his watch. "Zimbabwe must be six
or seven hours behind us. I'll have my office phone their Ministry of Natural
Resources and Tourism and find out where this Cliff Coppen is at the moment,
and try to get a contact fax or phone number. I'm very interested as to why
there was no reply to your father's letter... unless, of course, Coppen called
him on the phone."

"But
how can this man Coppen help?"

"I
don't know yet, but we follow up every lead."

He
reached for the phone, dialled the number and issued a series of instructions.
When he hung up, he said, "They'll phone me back shortly... What will you
do with this house? Sell it? It must be worth a fortune."

Her
short laugh held no mirth. "It will be sold, but it's been mortgaged and
re-mortgaged. Unlike his father, my father had no head for money... He didn't
gamble or play the stock market or anything, but by the time he had given me
and my brother expensive educations, and with all the money he spent on his
work and the laboratory, there won't be much left, if anything."

"What
will you do?"

"I
have three months' paid leave. When the house is sold I'll probably move into
an apartment with another air hostess." She saw the concern on his face
and said, "You know the Triad mind, Colin, but you don't yet know my mind.
I'm not going to be chased out of town by any bastard Triad. Not Tommy Mo or
anybody else."

For the
next five minutes, he tried to convince her of the dangers of staying in Hong
Kong. He was still trying to convince her when the phone rang. She answered it,
listened and then passed it over to Chapman.

He
listened for several minutes, occasionally asking a one-word question, then he
hung up, turned to her and said, "Assuming that a letter from here to
Zimbabwe takes about a week, then at about the same time as Cliff Coppen got
your father's letter, he was shot dead, together with an American girlfriend on
the banks of the Zambezi River. The Zimbabwe police are faxing me a full
report."

"Coppen's
death could be a coincidence... after all, Africa can be a dangerous place."

The
Englishman shrugged. "So can New York, Rio or a little village in the
country. When it comes to the Triads, I don't believe in coincidences."

The
Gulfstream IV was equipped with a satellite telephone. Maxie MacDonald used it
first. As they flew across the Alps, he spoke to his cousin, seventy miles
outside Bulawayo, Zimbabwe's second city. He spoke in a language which Gloria
did not understand.

She
looked at Creasy across the table and asked, "What is it?"

"Ndebele."
Creasy answered. "It's the language of the Matabele, which is the main
tribe of that part of the country."

"Do
you understand it?"

"A
little. Maxie and his cousin speak it perfectly."

"Why
aren't they speaking in English? Is it some secret you're keeping from
me?"

Creasy
kept the irritation out of his eyes.

"We're
keeping nothing from you, Mrs Manners, not at the beginning of this trip or
now. It's just that we don't know how secure this satellite link-up is. Maxie
is talking about weapons. We don't want anybody eavesdropping."

"What
weapons?"

"Well,
obviously, Maxie and I are not going into the bush looking for murderers with
our bare hands. We need rifles and handguns. The plan is that we will leave
Michael in Harare for a few days, to nose around. He's good at that and no one
knows him there. You have to understand that, although it's a big country, the
cities and towns have a village mentality, especially among the white
community. After leaving Michael in Harare, we'll fly to Bulawayo and spend one
day there, and then fly on to Victoria Falls, which is the nearest town to the
operational area. There are some good hotels there. That will be your base
while Maxie and I go into the bush."

"What
will you be looking for, exactly?"

"Nothing,
exactly. All tracks of the killer or killers have been lost."

"So
what's the point of going into the bush? Are you just going to be playing at
boy scouts?"

Again,
Creasy kept the irritation out of his eyes.

He
said, "Mrs Manners, so far, apart from the hiring of this jet, this
operation is costing you relatively little. If Maxie and I don't stumble across
something in the bush -- and if Michael draws a blank in Harare -- then we'll
go home."

There
must have been an edge of sarcasm in his voice because she immediately
bristled.

"Is
that what you want?" she snapped.

He
shook his head. "Let me explain further, Mrs Manners. Usually, I'm very
choosy about who I work for. In fact, given the choice, I wouldn't be working
at all. I ended my career with a nice nest-egg, but events over the past two
years have whittled that down. I'm not poor, by any means, but I like to have a
good reserve. So I'd be very happy to find something in the bush that relates
to your daughter's murder, and then go on to collect the big payment. So will
Maxie and Michael."

"What
you're saying is that if you still had this nest-egg, you wouldn't have taken
on this job?"

"I'll
tell you the truth, Mrs Manners, I don't know. Jim Grainger's a friend of
mine."

Maxie
had finished his telephone conversation. Creasy turned to him and asked,
"So?"

"Ian
has all the weapons we need and they're fully licensed, but there's one small
problem. He can only lend them to us with written police permission. By law,
they have to be in his possession. Obviously, he can't afford to break the
law."

"I
anticipated that problem," Creasy said. He glanced at his watch.
"Quite soon, Jim Grainger will be waking up in Denver. I'll phone him and
ask him to use his influence through the State Department to ask the American
Ambassador to apply a little pressure on the Zimbabwe authorities again."

"OK,"
Maxie answered. "But now there's something else. Ian confirms that the
Commander John Ndlovu is the one and the same ZAPU officer we fought against
back in the seventies. He also says that he's well-respected, both by blacks
and whites and, as far as is known, he's not corrupt."

"What's
all this about?" Gloria asked.

Creasy
explained. "ZAPU was one of the two guerilla armies fighting for
independence against the Rhodesian forces. Ndlovu was a good commander,
operating mainly in the eastern Highlands. I almost managed to catch him a
couple of times, but he was clever. He will know all about me and Maxie."

"That's
not good news," Gloria commented.

"It's
not necessarily bad news. There's been a major reconciliation in Zimbabwe
between the different forces."