Ivory (45 page)

When the copilot turned to acknowledge them with a nod Alex saw for the first time that it wasn't a man, but rather a young coloured woman. She smiled at him. She was very pretty. The surname on the name tag on her flight suit said
Judge
. Alex forced himself to look pleased to meet her over the radio. He heard Captain Steyn, the ground liaison officer, relaying coordinates for the first pick-up.

‘Confirm you now have four pax on board. Army public relations team plus one parks officer?' Alex heard Steyn ask.

‘Roger,' said the colonel. ‘And acknowledge that we are now taking all four to Skukuza.'

‘That's affir . . .' said Steyn. Alex could not hear the other man's full reply.

‘Any word on our guest star . . . for . . . vid . . . ?' the pilot asked.

Alex pressed his left hand against his headphones to try to hear the transmissions, which kept dropping in and out. He jiggled the wires attached to each earpiece as well, and finally was able to hear the conversation, though he had missed most of it.

‘It'll be a nice surprise,' the pilot said.

Alex pressed the talk switch. ‘What's that about a surprise?'

The pilot laughed into his microphone. ‘Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise. Wait and see. It might not happen.'

Novak tapped Alex on the shoulder and pointed out the open cargo hatch. Below them a herd of more than a hundred buffalo was stampeding from the noise of the passing machine. They looked like a swarm of fat black flies from this height, zigging and zagging through the dry yellow grass. Alex guessed plenty of animals had been upset today by the sounds of gunfire and the movement of heavy vehicles and aircraft around them.

Alex was concerned about the pilot's last comment. The only surprise he wanted on this mission was the one he had in store for the helicopter crew and their escorts. Two airmen in SANDF camouflage fatigues sat in troop seats at the rear of the cargo compartment, R5
rifles resting on their knees. One of the men grinned and raised his rifle into his shoulder and aimed out the open door when Novak pointed his stills camera at him.

Both were young – one white, the other African – and Alex was sure he would be able to best them when the time came. Airmen received basic weapons training, like all members of the military, though they would not be as adept in hand-to-hand combat as the ex-special forces soldiers on board. Both wore bullet-proof vests, which Alex guessed was more for the benefit of the news cameras waiting in Pretoria than in acknowledgement of any real threat to the helicopter and its cargo.

‘First collection coming up,' the pilot announced for the benefit of Alex and the helicopter's crew.

Alex looked out between the pilot and the copilot. Ahead he saw two tractors towing trailers loaded with grey hide and raw meat and fat. The bones of a dozen dead elephants were showing white against the brown of the bush. A man in national parks field green stood with both hands above his head.

The crew conversed among themselves as the pilot descended. Joost the flight engineer craned his head out the door and gave a commentary on vehicles below them and their distance from the nearest trees.

‘When we touch down, your cameraman and photographer can get out to photograph the loading, if you like,' the copilot said to Alex over the radio.

‘Thanks, will do. I'll let them know.'

Alex relayed the orders to Novak and Kufa in a shout. It was important for them to win the confidence of the airmen around them. As the Oryx's wheels touched down the flight engineer gave the men a thumbs up and yelled, pointing to the rear of the helicopter, ‘Stay clear of the tail rotor!'

Novak and Kufa jumped down and were almost stampeded by a chain of national parks staff who were already running towards the Oryx, laden with tusks. Joost grabbed one of the rangers by his epaulette and motioned for him to get into the helicopter and help stack the
ivory. Alex, Kobus and the two armed airmen joined in. The uniformed men at first slung their weapons, but when one jabbed the other painfully in the side of the head with the tip of his barrel, both decided to unsling their rifles and stow them under their seats. Alex moved to the extreme rear of the fuselage and motioned to the two guards to pass the tusks back to him, where he began stacking them.

Alex's gloves were soon wet with blood from the uncleaned ends of the tusks. He pulled off his right glove and stuffed it in the pocket of his fatigue shirt, which made handling the yellowed shafts a little easier. Sweat was pouring down his face by the time the last of this first batch was on board.

Novak grinned and winked at him as he climbed aboard. He held up his camera. ‘I could get used to this job. Point and push the shutter button!'

Alex reached down to help Kufa aboard, as he was burdened by the unfamiliar bulk and weight of the video camera. Kufa nodded his thanks then wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, giving Alex a look of genuine distaste.

The engines whined and the rotors kept turning the whole time.

After the third pick-up Alex told the pilot that Novak and Kufa had shot enough stills and video and would now be happy to help load the tusks on board for the final two collections.

‘Great, thanks,' the colonel said. ‘That'll save us some time.'

The airmen who were supposed to be guarding the ivory were now chatting and laughing with Novak and Kufa as though the four of them were old friends. Kufa told a dirty joke that had all of them roaring.

Alex took off his headset and handed it to Kobus. Cupping a hand around his mouth, in case the flight engineer could lip read, he told Kobus to listen in to the chatter between the air force pilots and those on the ground. He would need to learn the call signs and verbal procedures they were using.

Kobus nodded, and licked his lips. He looked pale, Alex thought. Kobus had been fearless in landing them on the
Penfold Son
under fire,
and while he was a good pilot he was not a soldier. No doubt he was nervous about what was to come.

The next two collections of ivory went without incident and, with Alex and his men helping with the loading, were completed quickly. The Oryx had travelled a circuitous route and now skimmed the trees at the edge of the Satara airstrip.

On the ground they all sweated in the midday heat as they unloaded the ivory from the helicopter and stacked it in the cargo net laid out in the dirt. The pilot had shut down the engines and a refuelling truck pulled up next to them.

‘Petrice?'

‘Yes?' said the copilot.

‘We need to get some pictures of you for the army newspaper,' Alex said.

‘OK,' she sighed. ‘It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.'

Alex chatted to Petrice while Novak posed her first at the nose of the helicopter, then sitting in a copilot's seat with the door open. ‘It can't be easy for you, being one of a few women in a mostly male environment.'

‘Don't take this badly,' she paused to smile for Novak's camera, ‘but it's only people like you who make my job difficult. The other female pilots and I get more publicity than the males and it makes them jealous. We get ribbed about it.'

‘Well, you're more photogenic than the colonel over there.' Alex gestured to the older pilot, who was chatting to Captain Steyn out on the airstrip, and smoking a cigarette the regulation hundred metres away from the refuelling bowser.

‘Are you flirting with me?'

Alex raised his palms and shrugged. She laughed. ‘You work a lot with the police, don't you?' he said, changing the subject. He'd wanted her relaxed and felt he'd succeeded.

‘Yes. We fly special weapons teams to incidents such as sieges and armed farm invasions.'

‘Sounds dangerous. You don't carry a gun yourself?'

‘Sometimes, but not on PR jobs like this,' she said. ‘The colonel's old-school, though. He always has a pistol on him. He was shot down twice in Angola during the border war.'

The pilot, who Petrice referred to only as the colonel, was probably the squadron commander, Alex thought. He saw the man stub out his cigarette and place the butt in a zippered pocket of his flying suit. He couldn't see a pistol belt or shoulder holster, but as the officer swung his arms out and around as he walked – he looked like he was stretching away a muscle ache – Alex caught sight of a bulge under his left armpit.

‘OK. Finished your photo shoot, Petrice? Good. I know it's a chore, but someone's got to do it and they don't want an ugly old white man like me in the news, do they?'

A circle of men was now raising the sides of the wire cargo net and linking them to one another with snap hooks. The mouth was pulled close and tied tight with cord.

The engines whined and the rotors started to turn slowly above their heads. Alex looked at each of his men and they all nodded back to him. It was nearly time.

 

Alex looked out the hatch of the helicopter, watching a herd of giraffe loping away from the noise of the helicopter as they raced along above the dry grey-green carpet of bush. The wind coming in through the opening provided a welcome relief from the day's heat. Alex felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. The flight engineer was standing beside him, pointing to the black nylon backpack Alex had brought with him from the four-wheel drive.

They had just completed the fourth pick-up of tusks on this trip – the ninth in total. There was one to go.

Joost leaned closer to him and yelled, ‘Give me your pack – I've got to move it!'

‘I need the stuff in there!' Alex shouted back.

The flight engineer shook his head. ‘We're going to be nearly full
after the next pick-up. Let me stow it in the rear. It'll be safe.' The helicopter started to bank.

He was right – there was barely enough room for Alex, his men and the two security guards as it was, and there was still one more load of tusks to come on board. Nevertheless, he could not risk handing over the pack. Joost grabbed the bag but Alex held tight.

‘Give me the bag, please
sir
!'

Alex wavered and was about to comply, thinking he could get to the backpack when they next touched down and the flight engineer was busy manhandling ivory, but then Joost reached across with his other hand and accidentally grabbed a nylon tab attached to a zip. As he pulled, the flap came undone, exposing the butt of an R5 assault rifle.

The flight engineer stared at the weapon, his mind trying to process the information his eyes were sending him. The public relations team were military people, but why would they be carrying weapons with them as well as cameras? He reached for the press-to-talk switch clipped to the front of his flying suit.

Alex jerked the bag violently back towards himself, pulling Joost off balance. As the man fell towards him, Alex shot his right fist up hard and fast, punching the man in the Adam's apple. He lurched backwards, reaching for his neck with one hand.

Alex reached behind his back and pulled the Glock from the holster under his shirt. He leaned forward and grabbed the leads connecting the press switch to Joost's helmet, put his foot on the man's chest to hold him on the deck and ripped the cables free.

Novak and Kufa had needed no orders to spring into action, or warning that the plan's timing had suddenly been brought forward. Novak king-hit the black airman in the face, bringing forth a spurt of blood from his nose, while Kufa had the white man covered with his pistol, which he'd been wearing in a shoulder holster under his camouflage shirt. The African airman dropped his head between his knees, blood pulsing through his fingers, while Kobus dragged the men's R5s from under their seats. Novak moved to Alex's side
and covered the flight engineer, still lying on his back. He was alive, though breathing was clearly a difficult task for him, for he was bright red in the face.

As Alex spun around he saw Petrice, the copilot, looking over her shoulder. She was open-mouthed with shock at the scene unfolding behind her. Alex had been scanning the helicopter cockpit instrumentation during the flight and had identified what he thought was the radio, judging by an illuminated display of numbers that looked like a radio frequency. He hadn't confirmed it with Kobus yet, but he prayed he was right as he raised his pistol and fired a bullet into it.

The Oryx banked sickeningly to the left as the pilot flinched away from the noise of the gunshot – still brutal even over the whine of the engines – and the shower of sparks that erupted from the console in front of him. Alex grabbed the rear of the pilot's seat and thrust the barrel of his pistol up under the colonel's chin to reinforce the point that the machine was now under new management.

Alex motioned to Kobus, who passed him his headphones. Awkwardly, Alex put on the headset one-handed.

‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday . . .' he heard Petrice saying. That meant the internal intercom was still working, but was the woman's message being transmitted to anyone else?

‘Shut up or your colonel dies,' Alex said to her.

Petrice looked at him, wide-eyed, and nodded.

‘Who the devil are you?' the pilot asked.

‘None of your business. Give her control of the aircraft. I want her flying, not you.' Alex pushed the pistol harder into his throat. The pilot gave a slight nod and told Petrice to take over.

The helicopter lurched.

‘Steady, Petrice. You're doing fine.'

Alex reached around and undid the zip of the colonel's flying suit enough for him to get his hand in and pull out the man's concealed pistol. ‘Just keep flying straight and level,' he said to Petrice. ‘I want to hear if the Mayday message is acknowledged. If you say a word without me telling you to, this man dies. Understood?'

Alex saw the copilot start to form a word with her lips, then think better of it. She nodded her head instead.

‘Clever girl. Hush now while we listen.'

A few seconds later Alex heard a burst of static, then Captain Steyn's voice. ‘Tiger One-Three, I say again, pick-up five is ready. Acknowledge?'