Elephant Safari by Peter Riva

Author:Peter Riva
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2023-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Fikio Halijulikani—Destination Unknown

Pero needed to discuss everything with Mbuno, Nancy, Bob, and Gonzales. But then who would guard the prisoners? Mbuno solved the problem. He went to the open door and saw there was no window. The room was dank and hot. He drew some powder from his pouch and blew it off his palm into the room and shut the door behind him, holding his breath. There were muffled sounds and, moments later, silence. Again Mbuno held his breath and entered. Everyone was out cold, lying on one another. He checked eyelids and touched eyeballs. No one flinched or moved. He exited the room and closed the door. Taking a lung of fresh air, he said, “They will sleep, maybe one hour or two.”

Gonzales had to remember to close his mouth. He had opened it in shock, thinking, What is that stuff?

Pero thanked Mbuno and suggested they all inspect the plane while they talked. Nancy was first into the fresh air. She went up the Skyvan’s ramp at the rear and looked at the few boxes of cargo. “Nothing special here, just some supplies, mainly food. Maybe never unloaded. Cans, beans, soda bottles, orange Fanta bottles, some batteries.” She moved to the cockpit. She came back with an aviator’s map case. “Only this, Pero. Wanna have a look?” Pero nodded and eagerly opened it. It held the usual East Africa Jeppesen maps showing airports, landing fields, frequencies, all a pilot’s usual needs. The maps for the Omo River encampment were not marked, but that map was well creased and refolded several times. The crease was dirt-stained. He looked for another map showing signs of similar use. The only one he found, placed back in numerical order, was for eastern Kenya, carefully folded to place Dadaab in the middle. He kept that information to himself.

Gonzales sat in the pilot’s seat and flicked switches, calling back, “Got their squawk frequency …” He tapped the transponder. “And here’s their call sign.” He pointed to the radio call sign, etched into a Formica tag, glued to the instrument panel just like every other small aircraft with multiple pilots. Using the phone as a message board, he entered the numbers and ran out of the plane to get a clear signal to the satellite, pushed send, and followed up with a call. Pero left him to report in.

Message sent, Gonzales turned to Pero and asked, “What did you learn?”

Pero needed to know. “Can you fly this thing?”

“Not with my training, no.”

Pero debriefed the sergeant on what he had learned. “Two planes, bought from a Channel Islands charter company in the UK, identical models. Everything as we worked out. The two guys with him are technicians they hired some time ago. He’s done twenty flights, the other plane is on the twenty-first. Planes need servicing. Each time they carry two tons of trunks. I work that out to be thirty tusks, fifteen pairs. Value? About ten mil, in dollars. Each flight.”

“Jee-sus, Pero, you’re kidding, right?” Bob was startled.

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