Ivory (41 page)

Military police would be positioned at Phabeni Gate to check the identities of uniformed people taking part in the operation, and to facilitate their entry to the national park without disrupting the normal flow of tourist traffic. The public relations plan specified a three-man detachment, but there were six men in the two vehicles.

A kilometre from the gate, Alex pulled over. ‘OK, end of the line,' he said to Novak.

Novak, Henri and Heinrich all got out of the Nissan
bakkie
and Kevin took his rifle and webbing out of the Land Cruiser and joined them by the side of the road. All wore military uniforms and carried R5s. ‘See you at the Albassini Ruins,' Kevin said, and gave Alex a smart salute. Alex smiled and waved him off. Kevin checked his hand-held GPS unit and led Henri and Heinrich away from the road, into scrubby bushveld which was slowly reclaiming what had once been a farm on the border of the national park. They would cross into the reserve on foot, cutting through the elephant-proof fence that separated Kruger from the outside world.

Alex took a cigarette lighter from the breast pocket of his fatigues and a plastic soft-drink bottle of petrol from the back of the
bakkie.
After checking up and down the road to make sure no cars were approaching, he lit the improvised rag wick protruding from the bottle and tossed it into the empty cab. An orange-black ball of flame whooshed from inside and soon the vinyl bench seat was blazing fiercely.

Novak climbed into the driver's seat of the Land Cruiser. As an Afrikaans speaker he would play the role of the white photographer from now on, while Kufa, in the back seat, was the video cameraman. As the ranking officer, Alex took the front passenger seat. In his wing mirror he saw the Nissan, now surplus to their requirements, burning fiercely.

At Phabeni a uniformed military police corporal waved them over as soon as he spotted their uniforms.

Novak spoke in fluent Afrikaans before the man could say anything, explaining who they were. The corporal, an African, leaned his head into the cab and looked around. ‘Let me see your IDs,' he eventually said in English.

By speaking English, this young noncommissioned officer was saying that he was of a different generation to Novak, when white South Africans dominated the army and Afrikaans was the official language. Those days were long gone.

‘Howzit, my man. Would you like to be in
Soldier
magazine?' Alex said to the man while Novak searched in his pocket for the stolen identity card of the man whose place he had taken.

The corporal looked at Alex and said, ‘What . . .' then added, ‘sir?' when he saw the captain's rank insignia.

‘Pictures! We need photographs of as many SANDF personnel involved in this operation as possible, for your local newspaper, and for our own
Soldier
magazine. You'll be famous,
bru
! Dirk, get your camera, man, and take a picture of this warrior for us.'

Novak nodded and reached for the Nikon in the console between them and opened his door. The military policeman stepped back to make room and automatically began straightening out imaginary creases from his uniform shirt and adjusting the red beret on his head to a more rakish angle.

‘That's it, man.' Novak made a show of checking his camera settings and began snapping away. ‘Hand up, like you're taking charge of these
bladdy
soldiers. That's it.
Lekker
pose. Work it, work it.'

The corporal was laughing now and Novak said, ‘No smiling!' and this made him double up. When he'd composed himself Novak said, ‘You're an MP, man. Show the folks at home how you won't tolerate law breakers.' The man posed, hands on hips, in front of his military police vehicle for a few more snaps.

‘Hey,' called a tourist, who had just pulled up at the gate's reception office. ‘Are you a policeman? There's a
bakkie
on fire just up the road there.'

They all turned and saw the column of smoke, dark against the blue sky.

‘Hey guys, I'm sorry, but I have to go and report this,' the corporal said.

‘Duty calls, man. Don't let us stop you,' Alex said, clapping the NCO on the shoulder. ‘Thanks for your time.'

‘Nice work,' Novak said to Alex when they were back in the car.

‘He didn't even check our IDs,' said Kufa from the back seat.

‘It's not over yet.'

They entered the park proper, crossing a low-level concrete bridge. Off to their right three old male buffalo wallowed in a puddle of mud, barely lifting their heads to register the passing of the four-wheel drive. ‘Pull over on the left up here,' Alex said to Novak.

Just inside the park was a historical site called the Albassini Ruins.
Joao Albassini had been a pioneering Portuguese trader in this part of South Africa in the nineteenth century and the foundations of his home and store were still visible at the site.

Alex got out. This was one of a few public places outside of the main rest camps in Kruger where visitors were allowed to alight from their vehicles. A minute later, Kevin emerged from the bush, followed by Heinrich and Henri. They climbed into the Land Cruiser. With all of the camera gear it was a tight fit, but Alex knew he would need every one of them, especially if their run of good luck came to an end.

From the Albassini Ruins they drove on the sealed Doispane Road, named after an early black ranger who had been given the disparaging name of ‘Dustpan'. The park was busy with local and overseas visitors and it wasn't long before they were passed by open-sided, game-viewing vehicles, converted Land Rovers packed with tourists in an array of designer safari gear and leopard print.

A few kilometres on they found what the radio-equipped vehicles had been racing towards – a pride of eight lions. A black-maned male lay panting in the shade of a marula tree. His four female companions, arrayed around him, were more alert to the traffic jam of private cars and safari vehicles that had stopped to photograph them. Novak edged off the road onto the verge and skirted the phalanx of vehicles. The tourists were too intent on the big cats to pay any mind to the soldiers in the Land Cruiser.

‘Bloody hell, I'm glad we've got our guns with us,' Kevin said, as the largest of the lionesses, a huge beast with rippling shoulder muscles, stared contemptuously at them through her golden eyes.

‘
Ja
,' Novak agreed. ‘A ranger I know says that most of the prides in the Kruger Park have tasted human flesh. They catch Mozambican illegal immigrants coming across the border. More effective than our own army patrols, that's for sure.'

It was a reminder that danger awaited them at every turn on this operation. As well as police, soldiers and national parks officers, all alert for theft of the precious ivory and disruption by environmentalist
protesters, there was a host of other creatures big and small out here in the veldt that could kill a man.

The others nodded.

‘Elephant,' Novak said.

All the men looked where Novak was pointing. It was amazing, Alex always thought, how the great grey beasts could sometimes be so hard to spot. But once he saw one swishing tail, and the flapping of a huge set of ears, he was able to pick out the rest of the herd. Novak switched off the engine and they could hear the snapping of branches as the elephants fed, and hear the deep rumbling of their stomachs as they communicated with each other.

They did not have a great deal of spare time to make their rendezvous at the culling operation's field headquarters, but Alex knew they could spare a few minutes to prepare, psychologically, for what they were about to do.

‘I could never kill one of these things,' Kevin said.

‘I could,' Kufa said. ‘In Zimbabwe they trample the maize, and an uncle of mine was killed by a bull that gored him with a tusk then crushed him.'

‘I hunted one in the Congo once,' Henri said. ‘I tracked him for two days. When it was done, I felt empty.'

Alex said nothing, but was transported back with vivid clarity to the misty morning when he was five years old. Again he heard his mother's voice as she warned his father not to get too close to the matriarch. He saw the tiny female with the ragged V notched into her left ear, felt her breath on his hand again.

‘You say that this thing that we do, it may stop the culling from proceeding?' Heinrich said.

As military men they had not dwelled on the ethics of what they were about to do, but Alex had voiced the same argument to them that Chan had put to him. It was a thin justification for a crime.

Alex watched a baby elephant, which he knew was less than a year old, as it could still walk easily under its mother's belly. The youngster had not yet learned to use his trunk and it flopped left and right and up and
down – a useless but amusing appendage until it could be taught otherwise by his mother. Alex started to speak; the words would not come.

He felt ashamed.

‘Start the engine. Let's get on with it.'

They passed a herd of zebra and a forest of giraffe heads watched them as they turned right towards Skukuza, Kruger's main camp and administration centre. As they drove in through the thatch-roofed gatehouse Alex pulled out his mobile phone and sent an SMS message:
Waiting at reception.

Alex had Novak park the Land Cruiser away from the main reception building, behind the camp library. Skukuza was a busy place at any time, thronged with tourists, national parks employees, safari guides and, occasionally, police. They opened the doors to let a breeze in and Alex got out of the vehicle when he saw Kobus van Vuuren walking up the main road, from the accommodation area.

The helicopter pilot who had flown them during the raid on the
Penfold Son
had made his own way to Kruger and had been waiting in Skukuza for them to arrive. He walked into the men's toilets, and Alex followed him. They stood side by side at the urinal and, with no one else inside, Alex passed Kobus the sports bag he was carrying. Without a word, Kobus disappeared into one of the cubicles while Alex dallied at the washbasin.

Kobus re-emerged dressed in one of Kim Hoddy's husband's national parks honorary ranger's uniforms. It was a good fit, and Alex was pleased, as he'd judged the two men's sizes from memory. Kobus's civilian clothes were in the bag, which he passed back to Alex. The soldier and the ranger strode purposefully to the Land Cruiser.

The vehicle was now packed, with two men in the front, three in the back, and two on the jump seats, facing each other over the pile of camera gear and accessories.

Alex directed Novak to drive straight to Satara Camp without stopping. A vehicle crammed with uniformed men was bound to attract attention, but some of them would be getting out once they neared their destination.

Novak sat on close to the maximum road speed of fifty kilometres per hour, ignoring the antelope, elephant, giraffes and zebra they passed on the way. As they neared Satara, the thick bushveld started to give way to more open grassy plains. When they at last rolled through the camp gates they were surrounded by people.

‘Holy fuck, what a circus,' Kevin said from the back seat.

It was a protest. Men, women and children of all ages emerged from the car park and picnic area at the sight of a four-wheel drive full of men in uniform.

‘Stop the cull! Stop the cull! Stop the cull!' they chanted, their voices growing stronger by the second as more and more of the demonstrators found a target for their frustrations.

It was the first glitch in the plan. Alex had intended on dropping Henri, Heinrich, Kevin and Kobus at the camp while he went to the operational control post for the cull, which was located nearby at Satara's dirt airstrip. He'd figured that if he showed up in a rental vehicle with the correct number of people for the public relations team – himself, Kufa and Novak – he would have an easier time getting past the inevitable police and army checkpoint. He knew from the operational orders that he would be issued with a vehicle pass when he gained access to the airstrip. Once he had reconnoitred the area he would leave Novak and Kufa to pretend to take pictures and video, and return to camp for the others. Having passed through security once he would simply claim to have picked up some other men who needed a lift when he returned to the field base.

They were surrounded by chanting people. ‘I can't move,' Novak said. ‘I don't want to run them down.'

‘No, lock the doors.'

Something thudded on the roof of the Land Cruiser and a moment later red paint trickled down the windows on one side.

A white man with acne, dreadlocks and half-a-dozen piercings glinting on bits of his face pounded the windscreen. ‘Murdering bastards!'

‘Stay cool, everyone,' Alex said.

From the direction of the camp reception came the blast of whistles. ‘Cops,' said Heinrich from the back of the truck.

‘Move away from the vehicle!' a voice called through a loud hailer in English, then repeated the command in Afrikaans.

‘Fascist bastards!' cried the young man. Alex could see he was trying to whip the protesters into a fury. He had a whistle of his own and blew on it loudly in response to the noise coming from the swelling ranks of blue-uniformed police.

‘Watch your language, there are children here,' said a grey-haired woman who was being pushed into Alex's window by the crush of people around her.

‘This is getting ugly. Novak, rev the engine, hard.'

A cloud of black diesel smoke belched from the rear of the Toyota, forcing a few people to step back, coughing.

‘There's a gap. Slowly now, reverse back towards the police.'

‘Save the elephants! Save the elephants! Stop the cull! Stop the cull!' Parents moved children out of the way of the moving vehicle, and the crowd of protesters, now at about sixty, regrouped in front of the Land Cruiser to stop it moving forward.

Twenty police moved around the vehicle in a protective phalanx and one jumped on the running board. He rapped on the window. ‘What the hell are you doing here, man?' the captain said to Novak as the electric window wound down.