Burning Angels (23 page)

‘So report your findings to the police,’ Jaeger suggested. ‘Or the wildlife authorities. Whoever it is who deals with such issues.’

Konig gave a bitter laugh. ‘Mr Groves, this is Africa. The amounts of money being made – everyone is paid off at all levels. The chances of someone taking action against this Lebanese dealer are just about zero.’

‘But what’s a Lebanese doing here?’ Jaeger queried.

Konig shrugged. ‘There are dodgy Lebanese business rackets running all over Africa. I guess this guy just decided to make himself the Pablo Escobar of the ivory trade.’

‘And what about the rhino?’ It was the Jaeger family favourite, and he felt a deep attachment to the magnificent animals.

‘With rhino it is even worse. The breeding sanctuary where we have the shoot-to-kill policy – that is mostly for the rhino. With a few thousand elephants, we still have viable breeding herds. With the rhino, we have had to fly in fully grown males, to bolster the numbers. To keep them viable.’

Konig reached for his glass and drained it. The subject of their conversation clearly troubled him. Without asking, Jaeger poured him a refill.

‘If the poachers are so heavily armed, you must be a prime target?’ he queried.

Konig smiled grimly. ‘I consider that a compliment. I fly very low and very fast. Just above the treetops. By the time they see me and have readied their weapons, I have flashed past. Once or twice there have been bullet holes in my aircraft.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a small price.’

‘So you over-fly, locate the poachers, and then what?’ Jaeger queried.

‘If we spot signs of activity, we radio the ground teams and they try to intercept the gangs, using our vehicles. The problem is response times, personnel, level of training and sheer scale, not to mention the mismatch in weaponry. In short, by the time we get anywhere near close the tusks or horns, plus the poachers, are long gone.’

‘You must be scared,’ Narov probed. ‘For yourself and the animals. Scared but enraged all at the same time.’

There was genuine concern in her voice, plus a certain admiration burning in her eyes. Jaeger told himself that he shouldn’t be surprised. Narov and this German wildlife warrior had an obvious bond – their shared love of animals. It drew them close, and it was a closeness from which he felt oddly excluded.

‘Sometimes, yes,’ Konig answered. ‘But I am more often angry than scared. That anger – at the scale of the slaughter – it drives me on.’

‘In your position, I would be enraged,’ Narov told Konig. She fixed him with a very direct look. ‘Falk, I would like to see this at first hand. Can we fly with you tomorrow? Join a patrol?’

It took a good second or more for Konig to answer. ‘Well, I don’t think so. I have never taken guests on a flight. You see, I fly very low and fast – like a roller coaster, only worse. I do not think you would enjoy it. Plus there is the risk of gunfire.’

‘Regardless, will you fly us?’ Narov persisted.

‘It is really not a good idea. I cannot just take anyone . . . And for insurance reasons, it’s just not —’

‘We’re not just anyone,’ Narov cut in, ‘as you may have realised in that cave. Plus I think we can help. I honestly believe we can help you put a stop to the slaughter. Bend the rules, Falk. Just this once. For the sake of your animals.’

‘Narov’s right,’ Jaeger added. ‘We really could help you deal with the threat.’

‘Help like how?’ Konig asked. He was clearly intrigued. ‘How could you ever help combat such slaughter?’

Jaeger looked hard at Narov. A plan of sorts was coalescing in his mind, one that he figured might just work.

46

Jaeger eyed the big German. He was in great shape, and would very likely have made a fine elite soldier, had his life followed a different path. He’d certainly shown little apparent fear upon their first encounter.

‘Falk, we’re going to let you in on a secret. We’re both ex-services. Special forces. A few months back we left the military and got married, and I guess we’re both searching for something: a cause to get involved with that’s bigger than us.’

‘We think we may have found it,’ Narov added. ‘Today, here with you at Katavi. If we can help put a stop to the poaching, that would mean more to us than a whole month of safaris.’

Konig glanced from Narov to Jaeger. There was still a hint of uncertainty as to whether he should trust them.

‘What do you have to lose?’ Narov prompted. ‘I promise you – we can help. Just get us in the air so we can see the lie of the land.’ She glanced at Jaeger. ‘Trust me, my husband and I have dealt with far worse than poachers before.’

That pretty much put an end to the debate. Konig had developed a soft spot for the beguiling Narov, that much was clear. No doubt he was keen to bend the rules and to show off his prowess in the air. But the chance of furthering his mission – of saving his wildlife – that had been the clincher.

He got up to leave. ‘Okay, but you come as independents. Not as guests of Katavi. Clear?’

‘Of course.’

He shook hands with them both. ‘It is most unorthodox, so please keep it quiet. We meet at seven a.m. sharp at the airstrip. There will be breakfast once we lift off, that’s if you still have the stomach for it.’

It was then that Jaeger fired a final question at him, as if in afterthought.

‘Falk, I’m curious – have you ever set foot inside that aircraft in the cave? Have you seen inside it?’

Caught off his guard, Konig couldn’t disguise the evasiveness in his answer. ‘The warplane? Seen inside it? Why would I have? It is of little interest to me, to be honest.’

With that he wished them goodnight and was gone.

‘He’s lying,’ Jaeger told Narov, once he was out of earshot. ‘About never having been on that plane.’

‘He is,’ Narov confirmed. ‘When someone says “to be honest”, you can know for sure they’re lying.’

Jaeger smiled. Classic Narov. ‘Question is, why? On all other fronts he seems genuine. So why lie about that?’

‘I think he is scared. Scared of Kammler. And if our experience is anything to go by, he has every reason to be.’

‘So we join his game patrol,’ Jaeger mused. ‘How does that help us get back beneath the mountain; get on to that warplane?’

‘If we can’t get on to it, the next best thing is to speak to someone who has – and that’s Konig. Konig knows everything that goes on here. He knows there is darkness behind the glossy facade. He knows all the secrets. But he’s scared to talk. We need to draw him on side.’

‘Hearts and minds?’ Jaeger queried.

‘First his heart, then his mind. We need to bring him to a place where he feels safe enough to talk. In fact, where he feels
obliged
to. And by helping to save his wildlife, we can do that.’

Together they wandered back to their safari bungalow, passing under a giant spreading mango tree. A troop of monkeys screeched at them from the branches, before hurling down some gnawed mango stones.

Cheeky sods
, Jaeger thought.

Upon arrival here, he and Narov had been handed a brochure regarding proper etiquette to be maintained around monkeys. If confronted by one, you had to avoid eye contact. They would see it as a challenge, and it would send them into a rage. You had to back away quietly. And if a monkey grabbed some food or a trinket off you, you were supposed to give it up voluntarily and report the theft to one of the game guards.

Jaeger didn’t exactly agree with the advice. In his experience, capitulation invariably led to greater aggression. They reached their bungalow and slid back the heavy wooden screen that served as a shutter to the large glass doors. Jaeger was immediately on his guard. He could have sworn they’d left the screen open.

As soon as they stepped inside, it was clear that someone had been in their room. The massive bed had had the mosquito netting lowered all around it. The air was chill; someone had switched on the air conditioning. And there were handfuls of red petals scattered across the pristine white pillows.

Jaeger remembered now. This was all part of the service. Whilst they had been dining, one of the maids had been in to lend that added honeymoon touch. It had been like this the first night too.

He flicked off the air con. Neither of them liked sleeping with it.

‘You take the bed,’ Narov called to him, as she went to use the bathroom. ‘I’m on the sofa.’

The previous night, Jaeger had slept on the couch. He knew better than to argue. He stripped down to his boxers and threw on a dressing gown. Once Narov was done, he went to brush his teeth.

When he came out again, he found her wrapped up in the thin sheet on the bed. The contours of her body could clearly be seen through the bedclothes. She had her eyes closed, and he presumed the alcohol had sent her straight to sleep.

‘I thought you said
you’d
take the sofa,’ he muttered, as he prepared to settle down on it . . . again.

47

The only sign that Jaeger could detect that Narov had a hangover was the sunglasses. This early in the morning, the sun was still to rise over the African plains. Or maybe she was wearing them to shield her eyes from the dust kicked up by the ancient-looking helicopter.

Konig had decided to take the Katavi Reserve’s Russian-made Mi-17 HIP helicopter, as opposed to the twin-engine Otter light aircraft. He was doing so because he was worried about his passengers getting airsick, and the chopper made for a more stable air platform. Plus he had a little surprise in store for his guests, one that would only be possible via a chopper.

Whatever the surprise might be, it must entail some degree of risk, for he’d returned to Jaeger and Narov their SIG Sauer P228s.

‘This is Africa,’ Konig had explained as he’d handed over the pistols. ‘Anything can happen. But I’m bending the rules, so try and keep your weapons hidden. And I will need them back at the end of today’s proceedings.’

The HIP was a bulbous, ugly grey beast of a thing, but Jaeger wasn’t overly worried. He’d flown numerous missions before in this type of aircraft, and he knew it to be of typically simple, rugged Russian design.

It was bulletproof-reliable, and well deserved the nickname given it by NATO forces – ‘the bus of the skies’. Although in theory the British and US militaries didn’t operate any such former Soviet-era kit, in practice of course they did. A HIP was ideal for flying unmarked, deniable operations, hence Jaeger’s easy familiarity with the machine.

Konig had the helo’s five blades spooled up to speed, spinning into a blur. It was vital to get airborne as soon as possible. The HIP would achieve maximum purchase in the cool of early morning. As the heat rose through the day, the air would thin, making it more and more challenging to fly.

From the cockpit Konig flashed a thumbs up. They were good to go. Hot blasts of burning avgas fumes washed over Jaeger, as he and Narov made a dash for the open side door and vaulted aboard.

The tang of the exhaust was intoxicating, bringing back memories of countless former missions. Jaeger smiled to himself. The dust thrown up by the rotor wash had that familiar smell of Africa: hot, sun-baked earth; age beyond measure; a history stretching back deep into the prehistoric past.

Africa was the crucible of evolution – the cradle within which humankind had evolved from an original, ape-like predecessor. And as the HIP clawed into the skies, so Jaeger could see the awe-inspiring and timeless terrain rolling out before him on all sides.

To their left – port – side, the humped foothills of the Mbizi mountains rose like a sagging layer cake, sludge grey in the pre-dawn light. A good distance north-west lay the twin lips of Burning Angels Peak, the eastern, slightly higher point marking where Jaeger and Narov had made their climb and descent.

And somewhere out of sight deep beneath that mountain lurked the hulking form of the BV222 seaplane. From the air, Jaeger could well imagine how it had remained hidden in the trackless wilderness of the Mbizi mountains for seven long decades.

He turned to the right – starboard – side. Patches of mountain forest rolled eastwards, petering out into a brown, hazy savannah-like landscape dotted with clumps of flat-topped acacia trees. Dry watercourses wound like so many serpents all the way to the distant horizon.

Konig dipped the helo’s nose and it leapt ahead with remarkable swiftness for such a snub-nosed and bulging pig of a machine. Within moments they were free of the open expanse of the airstrip and speeding over dense thickets of woodland, practically clipping the treetops as they went. The door was latched open, offering Jaeger and Narov the best view possible.

Prior to take-off, Konig had explained today’s objective: to fly a series of transects over the Lake Rukwa seasonal flood plain, where big game animals congregated around the few major waterholes. Lake Rukwa was prime poaching territory. Konig had warned them that he would have to keep the aircraft down lower than a snake’s belly, and to be prepared for evasive action should they come under fire.

Jaeger reached behind him for the bulge of his P228. He flicked it out of his waistband, using the thumb of his right hand to depress the magazine release mechanism. He was left-handed, but he’d taught himself to shoot with his right, as so many weapons were designed for a right-handed shooter.

He slipped off the near-empty mag – the one with which he’d taken on the pack of hyenas – and stuffed it into the side pocket of his combat trousers. That big, deep compartment was perfect for stashing used ammo. He reached into the pocket of his fleece jacket and pulled out a fresh magazine, slotting it on to the weapon. It was something he’d done a thousand times before, both in training and on operations, and he did it now almost without thinking.

That done, he plugged himself into the helo’s intercom, via a set of headphones that linked him direct to the cockpit. He could hear Konig and his co-pilot, a local guy called Urio, calling out the landmarks and flight details.

‘Dog-leg in dirt track,’ Konig reported. ‘Port side of aircraft, four hundred metres.’

Co-pilot: ‘Check. Fifty klicks out from Rukwa.’