The road to Hippo Lodge was badly flooded, just as Draadie had warned, but I was able to drive around the deeper potholes. When I got to Hippo Lodge, the same waiter who had greeted me two days before was there to meet me again. I looked around nervously. There was no sign of Jon, but Dr. Geldenhuis was sitting at a far table near the window with a huge black man dressed in a white suit. “Is Alvares here?” I whispered, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
The waiter shook his head. I hesitated and looked at the two men, who were engaged in a tense conversation. Instead of leaving, I asked to be seated outside, within earshot of the doctor’s table, overlooking the Zambezi. I could see them through the edge of the window.
I held my hands so they wouldn’t shake. This was a little too close for comfort. I turned my chair sideways so I could still watch them and turn my head if necessary. I could easily pass for one of the many tourists who had just arrived in an overland truck, but not if the doctor saw my face.
There was nothing subtle about the doctor’s guest in his raw-silk suit, his knuckles bulky with diamond-encrusted gold rings. He was engulfed in a veil of cigarette smoke. Two empty glasses sat in front of them, and they sat as if in a stalemate.
The man looked at his gold watch and cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got to catch a lift back to Lusaka with the reverend.”
“Hadn’t known you to shack up with conventional religion.”
“Haven’t you heard about my monogamy campaign?” He smiled and a gold tooth glistened in the setting sun. “Very lucrative.” He stretched and then smoothed down the pockets of his suit. “But hectic. I’ve had to sleep with each wife for a month to demonstrate the virtues of a single partner.”
I remembered Nigel’s story about the Zambian witch doctor’s fertility treatments and realized that this must be him.
A voluptuous black woman with very little clothing sauntered up and winked at the black man. “Two of the same?”
Geldenhuis looked at the waitress and nodded. “Windhoek draft for me.”
The waitress nodded. “And Castle for you?”
The witch doctor nodded and folded one hand over the other. “Of course, Windhoek. The good doctor always loyal to the home front. It makes me wonder why I give of my country’s wealth so freely. Zambia’s riches deserve better. There’s no trading without favors.”
“So is that what this is about? You came all the way from Lusaka to complain about testicles?”
“I wouldn’t have put it in such crass terms.”
The doctor scoffed, “Your arrogance astounds me.”
“And using your little humanitarian effort as your distribution arm is not arrogant?”
The waitress returned with two beers, and the man slid her a fat roll of bills. She smiled and walked away with his eyes glued to her rear end, each cheek peeking out of her impossibly short white booty shorts. The thought of working here was becoming less and less attractive.
The witch doctor took a healthy sip of beer, then tapped his cigarette box on the table, removed a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag, and exhaled. He clucked his tongue. “You should know by now that your dark African brothers love to bargain. You want to increase volume and keep the price down, I expect something in return.”
I had no proof that their conversation was about ivory, but I was pretty sure it was.
“But you are getting a great price.”
He twisted the fat ring on his ring finger. “It’s the game that intrigues me.”
“Game?” He took a long angry gulp and placed his mug down hard on the table, his knuckles white on meaty stumps.
The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a group of boisterous European tourists seating themselves throughout the open lapa.
Geldenhuis whispered, “Is this meeting on my property part of your little game?” The veins on his neck strained as he spat, “Show up at the old Sioma Falls airstrip tomorrow night at eight. I have to deliver supplies to Lusaka and will stop on my way back. I need that inventory.”
The witch doctor glared at him in silence, got up, and left.
Before Geldenhuis could turn around, I leapt up and hurried down the path to the river and took the long way back to my car. I got in and headed straight for the Mpacha airstrip. I had to figure out where the Sioma Falls airstrip was located and gas up for the following night. Craig said he had clearance for me to fly across the Zambian border, so if I wasn’t able to contact him, I was covered.