Burning Angels

Jaeger thanked him, and then Konig led him and Narov into the shadows, talking as he did so. His voice was barely above a whisper. They had to lean in close to hear.

‘So, there is a side to the business you know nothing about: Katavi Reserve Primates Limited. KRP for short. KRP is a monkey-export business, and it is Mr Kammler’s baby. As you’ve seen, the monkeys are like pests around here and it is almost a blessing whenever they do a round-up.’

‘And?’ Narov prompted.

‘Firstly, the level of secrecy surrounding KRP’s business is unprecedented. The round-ups happen here, but the exports go out from some other place — one that I have never seen. I do not even know its name. The local staff are flown there blindfolded. All they see is a dirt airstrip, where they unload the crates of animals. I have always wondered: why the need for such secrecy?’

‘Have you never asked?’ Jaeger probed.

‘I have. Kammler just says the trade is highly competitive and he doesn’t want his rivals to know where he keeps his monkeys immediately prior to transport. If they did, he claims they could give the animals some kind of sickness. And exporting a batch of sick primates would not be good for business.’

‘Where do the exports go?’ Jaeger asked.

‘America. Europe. Asia. South America… All the world’s major cities. Anywhere with medical laboratories involved in testing drugs on primates.’

Konig was silent for a second. Even by the faint light, Jaeger could tell how troubled he looked. ‘For years I chose to believe him — that it was a legit business. But that was until the case of… the boy. The monkeys are flown to the export house by a chartered aircraft. A Buffalo. Maybe you know it?’

Jaeger nodded. ‘Used for getting cargo into and out of difficult places. The US military flies them. Carries about twenty thousand pounds of freight.’

‘Exactly. Or in primate terms around a hundred crated monkeys. The Buffalo shuttles the primates from here to the export house. It flies out loaded, and returns empty. But six months back it flew in here with something unexpected. It had a human stowaway.’

Konig’s words were coming faster now, almost as if he was desperate to unburden himself now that he had started to talk. ‘The stowaway was a kid. A Kenyan boy about twelve years old. A kid out of the Nairobi slums. You know of those slums?’

‘A little,’ said Jaeger. ‘They’re big. Several million people, so I heard.’

‘One million at least.’ Konig paused, darkly. ‘I was away from here at the time. On leave. The kid sneaked off the aircraft and hid. By the time my staff found him, he was more dead than alive. But they build them tough in those slums. If you live to the age of twelve, you are a true survivor.

‘He didn’t know his exact age. Kids tend not to in the slums. There is rarely any reason to celebrate birthdays.’ Konig shuddered, almost as if he was sickened by what he was about to say. ‘The boy told my staff an unbelievable story. He said he was part of a group of orphans who’d been kidnapped. Nothing so unusual there. Slum children being sold like that — it happens all the time.

‘But this kid’s story — it was unreal.’ Konig ran his hand through his wild blonde hair. ‘He claimed they were kidnapped and flown to some mystery location. Several dozen of them. At first things weren’t so bad. They were fed and looked after. But then came a day when they were given some kind of injections.

‘They were placed in this huge sealed room. People only ever entered in what the kid described as spacesuits. They fed them through these slots in the walls. Half the kids had had the injections, half not. The half who had no injections started to get ill.

‘At first they started sneezing and their noses ran.’ Konig gave a dry retch. ‘But then their eyes turned glazed and red and they took on the look of a zombie; of the living dead.

‘But you know the worst thing?’ Konig shuddered again. ‘Those kids — they died weeping blood.’

59

The big German conservationist fished in his pocket. He thrust something at Narov. ‘A memory stick. Photos of the kid. While he stayed with us, my staff took photos.’ He glanced from Narov to Jaeger. ‘I have no power to do anything. This is way bigger than me.’

‘Go on. Keep talking,’ Narov reassured him.

‘There’s not much more to say. All the kids who weren’t injected died. All those who were injected — the survivors — were herded outside, into the surrounding jungle. A large hole had been dug. They were gunned down and shovelled into that hole. The kid wasn’t hit, but he fell amongst the bodies.

Konig’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Imagine it — he was buried alive. Somehow he dug his way out again. It was night. He found his way to the airstrip and climbed aboard the Buffalo. The Buffalo flew him here… and the rest you know.’

Narov placed a hand on Konig’s arm. ‘Falk, there has to be more. Think. It is very important. Any details, whatever you can remember.’