The Beetle bounced down the eastern floodplain road, heading to Hippo Lodge. Not having been to the lodge, I wasn’t sure I could find it after dark, so I was racing the sun.
I turned in at a large sign with an arrow pointing to a long, low thatched building overlooking the river. After parking in the gravel lot, I stepped into the dark breezy receiving area. A horizontal shaft of sunlight beamed through the open far wall that faced the river.
“Hello?” I called into the empty room.
A tall dark man stepped out of a corner wearing a khaki collared shirt with “Hippo Lodge” embroidered on the left breast. “Good afternoon.” He bowed slightly. “Here for early dinner?”
Startled at his sudden appearance, I hesitated before responding. “Oh, hello. No, thank you. Just a drink, thanks.”
“Ah, sundowners.” The man led me outside and sat me down at a table under a thatched gazebo that hovered over the brown swirling water. I had a splendid unobstructed view up and down the vast river. The sun was low, lighting the river in a fiery orange.
I ordered a Lemon Twist and then stared at the vortex of the great swollen Zambezi. The chocolate river sucked at the legs of the gazebo as it passed, seemingly bent on swallowing the large tree islands in the middle of the river. A glossy ibis flew by in the breathless air, giving its signature hau di dau to announce another lazy late afternoon along the mighty Zambezi. It was all business as usual around here, as if the elephant carnage that I had just witnessed across the border had happened worlds away.
The waiter returned and put the soda down next to a sticky glass. I thanked him and refused the glass. I snapped the top of the chilled can and took a sip of the sugary, bitter bubbly drink. The sweetness of a large swallow erased my burgeoning headache. My stomach was only now starting to feel more settled after the flight.
I gulped down the rest of the drink and called to the waiter. “Is Mr. Alvares here?”
Alvares emerged from behind a well-manicured reed-and-thatch bar off to the side. He squinted into the setting sun. “Ah, thought I recognized you. Glad you popped around.”
I stood up. “Catherine Sohon.” I tried to seem casual. “You mentioned that I might stop by today, and it was on my way, so I thought I’d check it out.”
“Came by for the rump, I suspect?”
“Maybe next time.” I looked around. “Lovely place you have, though.” I blew out a long steady breath, trying to control the waver that I felt mounting in my voice. “Bet you never get tired of the view.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate it. Took over running the place about a year ago, and if it were up to me, I’d never leave.”
“I see the attraction.”
“Have to keep reminding myself that someone else owns the place even though he’s hardly here. Only comes around some weekends. Hard to keep track, particularly now that he does all his own flying. I used to be his pilot, you see.”
“Interesting.”
In a small town, it wouldn’t take long for him to find out that I was a pilot as well, but I didn’t know how much small talk was enough to be polite before asking to use the radio. Trying not to seem too abrupt, I asked, “Listen, my cellphone broke on the drive up from South Africa. I really need to make a call to South Africa. Is there any chance I could borrow your radio?”
Alvares looked uncertain. “We could try. This is coming into the best time of day for reception. I haven’t had much luck reaching the exchange in Walvis Bay this week, though.”
“Would you mind if I tried?”
“By all means.” Alvares led me behind the bar and into a dark office and switched the light on. He opened up a door at the back of the office, revealing a private radio room. “The boss likes privacy when he makes his calls.”
Although excited to have privacy, even if I closed the door, I’d have to be careful of who might be on the radio. A smartphone with a satellite phone backup was going to be essential.
I was able to get through to the exchange operator in Walvis Bay and gave her Craig’s phone number in Johannesburg. As I waited for the connection, I tried to collect myself. I had to sound calm.
I heard Craig’s voice as the phone picked up. My stomach tightened. “Hello, Craig.”
“Catherine, how are you? Where are you?”
“I’m at a fishing camp,” I said curtly. “Place called Hippo Lodge.”
“Ah, yes, excellent place. Understand they have a big tiger fish competition every year.” It sounded like he was about to launch into a story but hesitated, probably realizing that he sounded a little too chipper for my tone. “Right. Good. But what happened to your cellphone?”
“Broken.”
“A fine welcome.”
“Yes, well, I hope to get another on Monday. A satellite backup would be good. There’s a lot of areas with no cell coverage in the region.”
“I’m one step ahead of you there.”
“Glad to hear it.” I thought about the ivory chip sitting next to my bed. “I have some data for you.”
“I look forward to seeing it.”
I stalled. “And my clearance?”
“Ah, yes, sorry about that. Turned out to be some delays, but it should be there now. I had my secretary fax it up.”
“Good. So it will go to Baggs directly?”
“Yes, to his office. When the fax is back online.”
“And you’ve spoken with him about me?”
“Yes, we had a chat yesterday. I understand you had just been in his office in the morning.”
“And?”
“Look, I’ll be honest, he’s an ornery bugger. But he’s the best we’ve got up there. He’ll soften up. We need him on this. And he’s committed.”
“It was hard to tell.”
“I did warn you that this would be no picnic. You must be careful what you say.”
“I just didn’t expect that kind of introduction.”
“I’ll chat with him again and get things sorted now that he’ll have your clearance.”
“Sounds good.”
Craig lowered his voice. “There’s been some new leads on the Dollar Store. We’re hopeful that something will turn up from your activities over the next week.”
“That’s actually why I’m calling you now.”
“Is it?”
“I need to learn more about Red Cross activities in the region. And witchcraft.”
“That’s a tall order.”
“Can you arrange clearance for the Angolan border?”
“That will take some time. You are clear for Zambia, though.”
“How soon for Angola?”
“Difficult to say with the postwar fallout. Why, any activity?”
“Yes. A lot of activity.”
“Photos?”
“Not yet.”
“GPS fix?”
“In the vicinity.”
“Nice.”
“Listen, I’m thinking about doing some volunteer work.”
“Think you’ll have time for volunteer work? Maybe wait and see how things look in a few weeks.”
It was frustrating to have to talk on the open airways like this, so we had to somewhat converse in code. “I think it will be quite beneficial. Can you check on registered Red Cross missions based out of Katima?”
“Okay, I’ll put the guys on it.”
I was hoping that Craig was reading between my sentences—that he really didn’t think I actually wanted to volunteer for the Red Cross. “Great.”
“Catherine, now that I have you on the line, I got you a postbox at the Kongola post office just across the river from Susuwe. Know it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Box number 248. I’ll be sending things there. In the meantime, I’ve sent a courier up with some essentials.”
“Can the same courier deliver you some samples?”
“Will send another for that. And I’m going to make several appointments for you. Got one with Nigel Lofty on Monday. He’s a Brit who heads the Community Care program in the region.”
The reception suddenly got worse and I was focused on the mention of a phone. “When do you think the sat phone will arrive?”
“Cheers, Catherine, go well.” I wondered if he didn’t hear me, but then realized that he sounded suddenly rushed, as if someone had entered his office.
“Okay, good-bye then.”
As I headed out of the bar, Alvares put down the glass he was cleaning. “Did you come right with the comms?”
“Yes, I did. Thank you so much.”
“Great. Must be pretty quiet over there at Susuwe. Don’t be a stranger.” Alvares smiled.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Go well, Catherine.”
I drove back to the station in the dark, trying to avoid all the cattle that were sitting on the road outside each of the main village areas. While I weaved through them, the horns of the large bulls were so big that, even sitting down, they were practically as tall as my car.
I couldn’t help wanting to drive up to the Angolan border the next day, to see if evidence of the poaching camp could be seen from the cutline. But the poachers would most likely be heavily armed, not something I was prepared for on my own. Maybe I could convince the rangers to take a drive with me.