That evening, Crys couldn’t focus on anything. She tried to watch TV – a BBC wildlife documentary – but she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept wandering to Michael and what could have happened to him. No one went off the radar for a month without letting someone know where they were.
What can they do to find him?
Sara Goldsmith hadn’t been optimistic that a private eye would ever get close to the people who had useful information, and she was probably right. Government officials and the police would be open to meeting, and perhaps the farmers that Michael had spoken to would too, but the people actively involved in poaching almost certainly would stay clear.
So, who was left? That was the question that haunted Crys for most of the evening.
The answer came to her when answers often did – when she was in a yoga position and her mind was clear. She should go herself.
It made perfect sense. She had a strong personal interest: she really liked Michael and their friendship was developing. She had the qualifications: she was a relatively well-known environmental writer with a strong background in investigative journalism. Her general focus of interest was endangered species – and rhinos certainly fit that bill. And she had the time – her last major project had just been published.
All she had to do was convince National Geographic to send her to look for him and work on the article.
She untwisted from her half lotus and was so excited by the idea that she nearly forgot to end her session with stretches and a cool down.
When she stood up, she could barely wait until the morning, when she could call Sara Goldsmith and make her suggestion.
‘Good morning, Crys, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Have you heard from Michael?’
‘Good morning, Sara. Unfortunately I haven’t. But I have been stewing over our conversation yesterday and the fact we couldn’t come up with a good plan to look for him.’
Goldstein didn’t respond.
‘Okay, so I have a suggestion that I’ve thought through carefully, which I think would work.’
‘And that is?’
Crys hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘I’ll go…’
She paused, but again there was silence from the other end of the line. She realised she was going to have to convince Sara.
‘I can go under the pretext of writing a story about rhino poaching – just like Michael. If you’ll let me see his notes, I should be able to speak to the same people he spoke to and perhaps find out who he thought was involved in his big story.’
‘Hmm … it’s an interesting idea,’ Goldsmith said at last. ‘And you’re willing to fund yourself?’
Crys took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I was hoping that you would hire me to finish writing Michael’s story.’
This time there was a very long pause. Crys wished she’d worked her way around to the suggestion rather than just throwing it out immediately. But she wasn’t good at prevarication.
‘I don’t know, Crys,’ Goldsmith said eventually, and Crys’s heart sank. ‘I’m worried that Michael may have run foul of the smugglers – they are very nasty, I believe. I wouldn’t want the same to happen to you.’
‘Ms Goldsmith, I can do the job. I’m an investigative reporter and deal with environmental affairs—’
‘I know who you are, Crys,’ Goldsmith interjected. ‘That’s not the issue. I’ve been very impressed with the reporting you’ve done on the plight of grey wolves.’
For a moment Crys was taken aback. This was a huge compliment, coming from such a prestigious source. She felt herself blush.
‘Thank you,’ she stammered. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d ever have read any of my work.’
‘Because of who we are and the people who are our customers, we try to keep tabs on everyone who’s doing good work in the same areas as we are. Your name has popped up a few times, including from Michael, so we’ve been keeping an eye on what you’ve been up to. I thought your grey wolf piece in the Duluth News Tribune last week was excellent. And it was widely syndicated too.’
Crys wasn’t sure what to say, so she just repeated a thank-you.
‘So, what you’re suggesting is that we send you,’ Goldsmith continued, ‘because you’ll have a better chance of gaining access because of the National Geographic connection. Is that right?’
‘Exactly.’
There was a silence. And the longer it lasted, the less optimistic Crys became.
‘I don’t know, Crys.’
‘Please give it some thought, Ms Goldsmith. We have to do something. This isn’t just about the story. Michael may be in serious trouble. We have to find out what has happened to him.’
‘Give me a call tomorrow. I’ll have an answer, but don’t get your hopes too high.’
The next twenty-four hours moved as slowly as the syrup from the maple trees next to her house during a spring cold snap. Every time Crys looked at her watch, only minutes had passed.
She slept so badly that she left the house at seven the next morning to ski for an hour. Anything to keep her mind off the clock. She’d had three cups of the Duluth News Tribune’s coffee by the time she called Sara Goldsmith again.
‘It’s Crys Nguyen, Ms Goldsmith.’
‘Please, call me Sara…’
‘Have you thought about my suggestion?’
‘Of course.’
Crys waited anxiously for her to continue.
‘Are you sure about this, Crys? If Michael ran into trouble researching his story, you could too. It could be extremely dangerous.’
‘I’m willing to take that risk. And I’ll be very careful.’
‘If I say yes, when could you leave?’
‘As soon as I can get organised. Perhaps by tomorrow night. Every day may make a difference to Michael’s safety.’
‘Crys, listen to yourself. You’re talking about rescuing him, not finding him. That’s a big difference. You aren’t qualified to rescue anyone … but, I suppose you are qualified to perhaps find someone.’
Crys held her breath. Had she overstepped the mark in her enthusiasm?
There was another of Sara’s long silences.
‘Okay, Crys. I have management permission to hire you to work with Michael on finishing his piece. We’ll obviously pick up all expenses, and there’s a reasonable stipend if we publish your article.’
Crys felt a huge wave of relief. ‘Thank you, Sara. Thank you. I won’t let you down. I promise. Please send Michael’s material by overnight. I’ll email you the address. And also, please give me the names of anyone you know he spoke to.’
‘I’ll send the email now, and you’ll get the material tomorrow morning. I’ll include the remit I gave to Michael. So, you’ll know what we asked him to do. Any questions?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Crys replied, her head spinning with excitement.
‘There is one other thing: Michael’s deadline is six weeks from now. I need you to meet that.’
‘Six weeks? For the travel and research and writing? Michael had more than twice that.’
‘If you don’t think you can…’
‘No, no, of course, I can make it. I was just taken aback by how quickly everything was happening. You’ll have your article on time.’
‘And remember, Crys – officially I’m sending you because I need that article. That’s your first priority. Understood?’
‘If you can find out about Michael, so much the better. But that’s not your top priority. And anything you do find out, you report it to the police. Don’t put yourself at risk.’
After she hung up, Crys pumped her fist in the air. Not only could she look for Michael, but National Geographic had just given her a huge professional opportunity. And she’d get to a continent she’d always wanted to visit. After wolves, elephants were her favourite animals, even though she’d never seen a live one. And Africa had the biggest population of them in the world.
There was another huge bonus.
She could visit Vietnam…
She’d been born there, but when she was one year old, she, her mother and her brother had left for Minnesota, taking advantage of the refugee programme. Crys had never been back.
She stood up and walked down the passage to her boss, Scott Nielsen’s, office.
He looked up as she came in. ‘You look pretty pleased with yourself.’
Crys nodded, a huge smile lighting up her face. ‘National Geographic has asked me to be a co-author on an article on rhino poaching! I’ll have to go to South Africa.’
‘That’s wonderful! When do you need to leave?’
‘Tomorrow!’
‘Tomorrow?’ Scott gasped. ‘Why so soon? I’ve got stuff I want you to do.’
As she explained what had happened and why she was offered the job, Scott raised his eyebrows. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Crys. Now you’re a one-woman search-and-rescue mission. Okay, you’d better get going, but there’s a price for me being so accommodating – a weekly column on what you’ve been up to in Africa. Okay?’
She nodded. ‘Of course. It’ll be fun to write something more casual than the Geographic stuff.’
‘Drop me an email tonight about the projects you’re working on. I’ll make sure they’re covered.’
‘Thanks, Scott. I just can’t believe this has happened to me.’
That night Crys was frantic. There was so much to organise.
She started by going online and buying an open ticket to Johannesburg via Atlanta.
Fifteen hours on a plane. Not her favourite activity.
She then sent off a number of emails to set up appointments in South Africa, to be followed up the next day with calls.
The next morning, she raced around Duluth trying to find clothes more suitable for Africa than Minnesota, and a good, but not-too-expensive camera.
When she got home, the parcel from Sara was on her doorstep. She grabbed it, made a cup of coffee, and skimmed through Michael’s material to find out who he’d spoken to and what he’d learned about rhino poaching and rhino-horn smuggling.
She was immediately drawn into his investigation. He’d met with several government officials and NGOs in Vietnam, as well as some people involved in selling rhino horns and rhino-horn powder. It seemed that either consumption was increasing or supply was decreasing, because several of the people selling the horns had complained about a shortage and rising prices.
After that, he’d gone to South Africa. And that’s where the trail stopped. There was nothing since he’d emailed her and Sara about being close to a breakthrough on how the horns were being smuggled out of that country.
There was no hint of what he had found out or who was involved. It was a mystery.
She put the notes aside with a frown. Now she needed to pack. She could read the material more carefully on the flight to Johannesburg; perhaps she would find some detail she’d missed.