The Pursuit of the Ivory Poachers (6 page)

“That's where we are headed,” said Chief Abasi, lifting his staff and pointing it to a wooden building in the near distance.

Jack thought the building looked like a shed; the kind he had at home in his back garden. As they approached the building, Chief Abasi turned to Jack.

“I must warn you,” he said. “What's inside may upset you.”

“That's all right,” said Jack, trying to sound brave.

The chief turned the handle on the shed door and pulled it wide open. He stood there waiting for Jack to take a look inside. As soon as Jack did, he immediately noticed two things. First, it didn't smell very nice. Secondly, there were lots of flies buzzing around. When his eyes finally adjusted, he knew instantly why Chief Abasi had called the GPF. Leaning against
the walls were the ivory tusks of ten African elephants.

Sometimes tusks were taken from elephants that died of natural causes. But more often elephants were gunned down and killed so that the poachers could sell their tusks for money. Some people believed ivory had healing powers; others wanted to use it for ornamental carvings. Jack turned to look at the chief, who was still outside.

“Now do you understand?” asked Chief Abasi as he shook his head in sadness.

“I do,” said Jack. “The people who did this are not warriors,” said the chief.

“They are cowards.”

“I agree,” said Jack, who couldn't believe someone would do something like that. “I promise I'll find out who did this and make sure they never do it again.”

“Thank you,” said the chief. “Well then” – he stepped away from the shed – “why don't I give you some space? I'm sure that you have some work to do.”

Once Jack had his bearings, he began to look around. The first thing he studied was the tusks themselves. There was nothing unusual about them, except stamped on each with black ink was the name of a faraway country. Jack figured these were the countries buying the tusks, but there was no clue as to who was selling them off.

When he was finished, Jack turned his attention to the outside. Whoever carried
the tusks, he reasoned, would have left footprints at the entrance to the shed.

Sure enough, as he stepped outside, Jack spied a collection of footprints. One set of markings was too messy to make out; it was almost as if the person had been shuffling in the dust. The other, however, was so clear that Jack could see a squiggle on the sole of its shoe. A perfect opportunity for the GPF's Footprint Finder to do its stuff.

He grabbed the gadget from his Book Bag and turned it on by pulling on the ends of the yellow stick. Slowly, he moved the wand over the markings, giving it just enough time to register the print. Instantly, the Footprint Finder revealed the shoe's brand and size.

BOOT UNKNOWN, SIZE 11

Weird, Jack thought. The Footprint Finder almost never failed to identify a
shoe. It must be from a shoe that's custom-made.

He followed the footprints as they travelled from the shed to a nearby road. There they stopped at a set of four tire marks. Luckily for Jack, he didn't need a gadget to tell him what made these; he knew almost everything there was to know about cars. Based on the width of
the axle and the tire's tread, these marks could only come from one kind of car: a four-wheel drive truck. Unfortunately for Jack, this was one of the most common types of vehicles on the African plain.

When Jack was finished, he joined Chief Abasi. “I'm done,” he said.

“Did you find anything interesting?” asked the chief.

“Yeah,” said Jack, “it looks like more than one person put the tusks in the shed. After that, they drove off in a four-wheel drive truck.”

“Interesting,” said the chief, considering what Jack had said. As if he was thinking about what that meant, Chief Abasi said,”I think you should meet Mr K next.”

“Mr K?” asked Jack.

“His real name is Jasper Kendall,” said the chief. “He runs Mr K's Safari Lodge,
the largest safari camp in the Maasai Mara.” “He and I have an arrangement of sorts,” he added. “I let him run his business on Maasai land. In return, he lets us entertain and sell souvenirs to his guests.”

“Do you think he'll know something about the poachers?” asked Jack.

“I am not sure,” said the chief. “But what I do know is that Jasper is extremely well-connected; he has his finger into most things going on in and around the Mara.”

“Great idea,” said Jack, who agreed that a meeting would be wise. “Where exactly is Mr K's?”

“It's a short drive from the village,” said the chief. “Trevor can take you and arrange for you to spend the night.”

Jack hadn't even thought about the
time. He glanced at his Watch Phone. It was 5:30
PM
. Since he knew the sun set at 7:00
PM
, he didn't have enough daylight to solve the crime. He was going to have to spend the night at Mr. K's and carry on with his investigation in the morning.

As long as Jack stayed on a mission no longer than forty-eight hours, the GPF could return him to his bedroom at 7:31
PM
. Beyond that they'd have to fake a reason for Jack being gone. That's what they did for Max. They engineered it so he was in a “boarding school.”

“Shall we meet up again tomorrow?” suggested Jack.

“Yes,” said Chief Abasi. “Trevor can pick you up in the morning and bring you back to the homestead.”

“Great,” said Jack. “That sounds like a plan.” Just then, Trevor pulled up in a jeep. Chief Abasi looked surprised at his arrival.

“Hello there,” said Trevor, who was no longer wearing his hat. “I borrowed a car. I figured the two of you could use a lift.”

“Stopped using the balloon, I see,” said Jack, joking with Trevor. Jack climbed into the back of the car, leaving the front seat for the chief. “Aren't you coming?” he asked Chief Abasi, who was lingering behind.

“No thanks,” he said. “I'd prefer to walk. Enjoy your visit with Mr K.” He nodded his head to say goodbye and then turned to walk in the opposite direction.

Trevor crunched the gears, then slammed
his foot on the accelerator. As they tore off, Jack thought about Trevor – he hoped he was a better driver than he was a balloon pilot, but held on to his Book Bag, just in case.

Trevor and Jack had driven over the dusty plain for half an hour when Jack noticed a large campsite in the distance. There was an enormous wooden lodge in the middle surrounded by dozens of oversized green tents. Around the perimeter was an electric fence. Probably, Jack thought, to keep the lions away.

“That's Mr K's,” said Trevor, pointing at the camp.

As they pulled up at the entrance, Jack
spied a large sign. It was written in big, bold letters. Inside the middle of the K was a drawing of a lion.

Beside the sign was an armed guard dressed in an olive shirt and trousers. Recognizing Trevor, he nodded and then let them pass. Trevor drove down the long path towards the lodge itself. He parked the jeep in a space marked ‘reserved' and turned off the engine. Almost at the same time, a large man came out. Wearing a brown cowboy hat and a checked shirt, the man looked like he belonged more on the plains of Texas than that of Kenya.