Burning Angels

‘Please, we’d like it,’ said Narov. ‘You must know so much about the reserve. We’re fascinated — bewitched — aren’t we, Spotty?’

She’d addressed that last remark to a cat sprawled beneath her chair. The lodge had several resident moggies. Typically, Narov had adopted the one that was the least attractive; the one that the other diners tended to shoo away from their tables.

‘Spotty’ was a white mongrel with black splodges. She was as thin as a rake, and at some time she’d lost one of her rear legs. Half of Narov’s baked Nile perch — a locally caught fish — had been fed to the cat during the course of the evening, and she’d grown ever more contented.

‘Ah, I see you and Paca have become friends,’ Falk remarked, his tone softening a little.

‘Paca?’ Narov queried.

‘Swahili for “cat”.’ He shrugged. ‘Not very imaginative, but the staff found her in one of the local villages, half dead. She’d been run over by a vehicle. I adopted her, and as no one knew her real name, we took to calling her Paca.’

‘Paca.’ Narov savoured the word for an instant. She held out what remained of her fish. ‘Here, Paca, don’t chew too noisily — some people are still eating.’

The cat reached out a paw, tapped down the chunk of flesh and pounced.

Konig allowed himself a brief smile. ‘You, I think, Mrs Groves, are a hopeless lover of animals?’

‘Animals,’ Narov echoed. ‘So much simpler and more honest than humans. They either want to eat you, they want you to pet them or feed them, or to give them loyalty and love — which they give back to you one hundred times over. And they never decide on a whim to leave you for another.’

Konig allowed himself a chuckle. ‘I think perhaps you need to be worried, Mr Groves. And I think perhaps I will join you. But just for the one drink: I have an early start tomorrow.’

He signalled to the waiter for a third glass. It was Narov’s love for the Katavi Lodge’s most unattractive cat that seemed to be winning him over.

Jaeger poured some Saumur. ‘Great staff, by the way. And you should congratulate the chef on the food.’ A pause. ‘But tell me — how does the reserve function? I mean, is it successful?’

‘On one level, yes,’ Konig answered. ‘We run a very profitable business here at the lodge. But I am first and foremost a conservationist. For me, all that matters is that we protect the animals. And in that… in that, if I am honest, we are failing.’

‘Failing like how?’ Narov queried.

‘Well, this is not really a honeymoon type of conversation. It would be distressing, particularly for you, Mrs Groves.’

Narov nodded at Jaeger. ‘I am married to a guy who takes me into Burning Angels crater just for the hell of it. I think I can handle it.’

Konig shrugged. ‘Very well then. But be warned: it is a dark and bloody war being fought out there.’

45

‘Very few guests choose to get here by driving, as you did,’ Konig began. ‘Most are doing Africa on a tight schedule. They fly into Kilimanjaro International Airport, from where they are whisked down here by light aircraft.

‘They arrive, keen to get their big game animals ticked off. The Big Seven: lion, cheetah, rhino, elephant, giraffe, Cape buffalo and hippo. That done, most fly out to Amani Beach Resort. It is it is a truly magical resort set right on the Indian Ocean. Amani means “peace” in Swahili, and trust me — it’s the perfect place to get away from it all in utter privacy.’

Konig’s face darkened. ‘But I spend my days very differently. I spend them trying to ensure that enough of the Big Seven survive to satisfy our visitors. I am a pilot, and I fly anti-poaching patrols. Well, “patrol” is perhaps too grand a word for it. It’s not as if we can do anything, for the poachers are very heavily armed.’

He pulled out a battered map. ‘I spend my days flying transects, which are recorded on video and married up to a computerised mapping system. That way we get a real-time video map of poaching incidents, pinpointed to their exact location. It’s a state-of-the-art system, and trust me, it is only due to the backing of my boss, Mr Kammler, that we can afford such things. We get precious little support from the government.’

Kammler. He’d said it. Not that Jaeger had ever doubted who called the shots around here, but it was nice to have it confirmed absolutely.

Konig lowered his voice. ‘Last year we had three thousand two hundred elephants. Sounds pretty healthy, no? That is until you learn that during that year we lost some seven hundred. Around two elephants killed for every day. The poachers shoot them with assault rifles, slice off their tusks with chainsaws and leave the carcasses to rot in the sun.’

Narov looked horrified. ‘But if it goes on like that, in five years you’ll have none left at all.’