be the middle men, as the American movies say. We collect fees, expedite commerce, and remain safely in the dark.”
Botlhokwa nodded his approval. He did not deal in drugs, arms, or any of the illicit human traffic that coursed in and out of his country, his continent. He merely facilitated its passage from seller to buyer remaining, as Noga put it, safely in the dark. This careful positioning had kept him in place for years. It would be so in the future. Let others reap the big profits and take the risks, he’d settle for a fat fee.
***
Patriarche heard the men approaching. They did not move quietly like the poachers he knew in his youth. These men crashed through the bush like elephants. That was good. He could keep his family safe and away. He picked up a stick and snapped off the remaining branches from it. A stick was a handy thing to have, He could pry roots out of the earth and if a branch with fruit or succulent leaves hung too high for him to reach, he could use it to pull the branch within his grasp. He did not think of this thing in his hand as a weapon. Such a concept had no resonance for this gentle giant.
The men moved closer. He grunted—not loudly—and the gorillas slipped deeper into the forest.
Chapter Ten
Kgabo Modise had an overnight bag packed, a flight booked to Kasane, and was in his car on the way to the airport when he received Sanderson’s call. His face creased into a frown as he listened to what she had to say. At one point, he pulled to the side of the road to jot details in the notebook he always carried with him. All the police he’d met in Quantico had notebooks like this one. He made a habit to write things down whether they seemed important or not.
“I am coming to Kasane today, Sanderson. I will visit you after I have talked with the lodge owners and local police. If the people who owned cameras were shooting at night, they will have the equipment you will need, I think. We will see.”
He rang off and continued to the terminal for his Air Botswana flight north. He wondered about a film crew that never returned to retrieve their equipment. Were they stupidly wealthy, or had they leased it and skipped, or…or what? Perhaps they had come back but had been sent away again by someone else. Perhaps they were not what they seemed. Another puzzle for him to think about. He would need the particulars. He thought to call Sanderson back and discover their names. His flight was called and he left the building. Plenty of time to do these things when he arrived at Kasane later that morning.
***
Noga left Botlhokwa’s office and stepped out into the afternoon sun. He dropped the butt of his cigar and ground it beneath his heel. His mouth tasted terrible. He did not like cigars, Cuban or otherwise. He smoked them with his boss because it was a necessary ritual when dealing with him. Not everyone who sat across the desk from Botlhokwa was offered a cigar. If you were, it meant something. You had status. Botlhokwa had funny notions about some things. Noga spat and placed a breath mint on his tongue. What to do? In his world one took advantage of opportunities that often came by like a herd of antelope. If you were a lion, you took care of the antelope. You did not wait for another day, a bigger herd, a fatter prey, or, in this case, permission from the boss. You ran them down, or in his case, struck like the snake, like the noga .
But it required discretion. One must never bite the hand that feeds you. A side deal for some drugs, a theft of some things that just happened your way was okay. But to cross the boss was not acceptable. Well, to cross him and be caught was not. Botlhokwa wanted him to discover the man who played at both ends. No problem there. If he wanted to end up in a ditch somewhere, he could turn himself in and finish the job. Not going to happen.
He did not want to be a Botlhokwa man forever. He knew the ropes, knew the people; had dealt with them for over a year now.
Botlhokwa nodded his approval. He did not deal in drugs, arms, or any of the illicit human traffic that coursed in and out of his country, his continent. He merely facilitated its passage from seller to buyer remaining, as Noga put it, safely in the dark. This careful positioning had kept him in place for years. It would be so in the future. Let others reap the big profits and take the risks, he’d settle for a fat fee.
***
Patriarche heard the men approaching. They did not move quietly like the poachers he knew in his youth. These men crashed through the bush like elephants. That was good. He could keep his family safe and away. He picked up a stick and snapped off the remaining branches from it. A stick was a handy thing to have, He could pry roots out of the earth and if a branch with fruit or succulent leaves hung too high for him to reach, he could use it to pull the branch within his grasp. He did not think of this thing in his hand as a weapon. Such a concept had no resonance for this gentle giant.
The men moved closer. He grunted—not loudly—and the gorillas slipped deeper into the forest.
Chapter Ten
Kgabo Modise had an overnight bag packed, a flight booked to Kasane, and was in his car on the way to the airport when he received Sanderson’s call. His face creased into a frown as he listened to what she had to say. At one point, he pulled to the side of the road to jot details in the notebook he always carried with him. All the police he’d met in Quantico had notebooks like this one. He made a habit to write things down whether they seemed important or not.
“I am coming to Kasane today, Sanderson. I will visit you after I have talked with the lodge owners and local police. If the people who owned cameras were shooting at night, they will have the equipment you will need, I think. We will see.”
He rang off and continued to the terminal for his Air Botswana flight north. He wondered about a film crew that never returned to retrieve their equipment. Were they stupidly wealthy, or had they leased it and skipped, or…or what? Perhaps they had come back but had been sent away again by someone else. Perhaps they were not what they seemed. Another puzzle for him to think about. He would need the particulars. He thought to call Sanderson back and discover their names. His flight was called and he left the building. Plenty of time to do these things when he arrived at Kasane later that morning.
***
Noga left Botlhokwa’s office and stepped out into the afternoon sun. He dropped the butt of his cigar and ground it beneath his heel. His mouth tasted terrible. He did not like cigars, Cuban or otherwise. He smoked them with his boss because it was a necessary ritual when dealing with him. Not everyone who sat across the desk from Botlhokwa was offered a cigar. If you were, it meant something. You had status. Botlhokwa had funny notions about some things. Noga spat and placed a breath mint on his tongue. What to do? In his world one took advantage of opportunities that often came by like a herd of antelope. If you were a lion, you took care of the antelope. You did not wait for another day, a bigger herd, a fatter prey, or, in this case, permission from the boss. You ran them down, or in his case, struck like the snake, like the noga .
But it required discretion. One must never bite the hand that feeds you. A side deal for some drugs, a theft of some things that just happened your way was okay. But to cross the boss was not acceptable. Well, to cross him and be caught was not. Botlhokwa wanted him to discover the man who played at both ends. No problem there. If he wanted to end up in a ditch somewhere, he could turn himself in and finish the job. Not going to happen.
He did not want to be a Botlhokwa man forever. He knew the ropes, knew the people; had dealt with them for over a year now.
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