Rare Breed. Connie Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ believed him, not because he was scared out of his wits and wouldn’t dare lie to her, but because the ring leader had been clever enough to set up a bush meat ring right under their noses, even had a spy, or two, in their camp. He’d definitely be clever enough to keep his identity hidden. She motioned for Snow to back off.

      Shots rent the air. Wynne’s head snapped up. Buzzards scattered into a black haze.

      Aja glanced into the forest and asked, “Where is Eieb?”

      “Oh, my God! Eieb!” Wynne should have known this arrest had gone down too easily. There must have been a lookout. She snapped a hand signal at Snow. “Guard.” She pointed to the poachers and heard another staccato blast of shots.

      “Please, watch them,” Wynne yelled over her shoulder at Aja as she ran into the forest, whipping off her slingshot. Wynne prayed Eieb was still alive and that the poachers hadn’t won this round, too.

      Wynne slowed as she neared the gun battle. It was seventy yards ahead of her. She crept forward, using the dense undergrowth as cover. She couldn’t see Eieb or the poachers. Only heard them. A semiautomatic rapid fire, rat-tat-tat-tat, layered by Eieb’s shotgun, ka-plow. At least she knew Eieb was still alive. It sounded like the middle of a war zone.

      Abruptly the shots stopped, the quiet deafening.

      Her pulse drummed in her ears. She smelled the bitter scent of gunpowder, thickened by the humidity. The air pressed in around her as she searched for movement, a quick rapid scan. Left. Right. Only lush green jungle. She tuned into the faint sound of moaning, jagged breathing. Was that Eieb?

      She didn’t dare call out. Poachers could still be in the vicinity, ready to play the Kill the Warden game. She prowled toward the sound, then heard…

      Whisper of leaves. Footfalls behind her. She loaded her slingshot and whirled it, arm poised, ready to fire.

      “It’s me,” Eieb whispered, his voice wired from the gun battle.

      She relaxed, relieved to see him, and let the slingshot drop. “Any more around?”

      “Only one. The shots came from this way. Pretty certain, he’s down.”

      Eieb headed toward the sound, Wynne on his heels. They spotted the fallen African at the same time. He was barefoot and wore ragged civilian clothes. His body was curled into a fetal position and he held his stomach. Blood oozed between his fingers and ran down his arm. An AK-47 lay next to him.

      Wynne kicked the rifle away. Then she and Eieb must have seen the young man’s face at the same time, for they gaped at him.

      “Mehan?” Wynne said, aware she shouldn’t feel empathy for a poacher who had tried to kill Eieb and probably other rangers. But she had seen Mehan’s smile every morning in camp for the past two years, knew his wife and four children, and the promise within him; he was an artist and had carved a leopard out of wood for her. It resembled Snow. How could she distance herself from someone she had called friend?

      “Why, Mehan?” Eieb looked as tortured and in pain as Mehan.

      Mehan squeezed his eyes shut, as if he couldn’t bear to look at them or face what he’d done. “Need…” he spoke in Nyanja. “Feed…family.”

      It was always about need. Mehan needed to poach to feed his family. Wynne needed to stop bush meat poachers. She grabbed a nearby Balsam plant, stripped the leaves with one glide of her hand, then crushed them between her palms. She pulled her dagger from its ankle sheath, tugged her shirt from her waist, and cut the bottom off; Mehan probably had two shirts to his name—if he was lucky.

      Wynne squatted on the other side of Mehan and looked at Eieb. “Help me roll him on his back.”

      Mehan grimaced but didn’t cry out, the African male warrior in him refusing to give way to pain.

      “Hold his hands.” She waited for Eieb to grasp Mehan’s hands, then thrust the leaves against the bullet hole.

      Mehan tensed, agony scorching his dark eyes. Perspiration trailed down his forehead. He clenched Eieb’s hands as if he were dangling from a cliff.

      “Just one more thing.” She wrapped the shirttail around his middle, packing the leaves against the wound. He was so thin, she knotted the strip of material twice. Mehan bit his lower lip, and his eyes glazed as if he might pass out. “That should help the bleeding. We’ll get you some real help.”

      “Who is behind this?” Eieb bent over Mehan, his voice soft, but his expression hard with resolve.

      “LZCG….” Mehan’s lips quivered, the name dissolving in his throat. Then he shuddered and passed out.

      “LZCG?” Eieb and Wynne both spoke at the same time, openmouthed in disbelief.

      “I don’t believe it.” Eieb shook his head. “The LZCG behind a poaching ring?”

      “Not just a poaching ring,” Wynne said. “A bush meat ring.”

      “Are you certain it’s a bush meat operation?”

      “The carcasses have been butchered and one of the men we caught confirmed it.”

      “I still do not believe it. Mehan could be lying to cover for someone else.”

      “I don’t think so. It’s like he was clearing his conscience.”

      “But without the LZCG we wouldn’t have the air and ground support. They just paid for the new animal tracking system,” Eieb said as if trying to convince himself it wasn’t true. “They gave us the funding. No, I cannot believe it.”

      “Now that’s the kicker, and what the orchestrator of this ring would like us to believe,” said Wynne. “If you think about it, it’s the perfect setup. No one would suspect someone in the LZCG of poaching.” The Zambian Wildlife Authority had been fortunate to have the LZCG base their operations in Zambia. Wynne knew the Lower Zambian Conservation Group, or LZCG as most people referred to it, had done more for saving wildlife than the Zambian government. It was a nonprofit organization started by safari tour owners and tradesmen who catered to wealthy tourists, photographers, and licensed hunters. In the 1970s and ’80s, safari owners had witnessed the near extinction of wildlife in Zambia, and they realized their livelihood was dying. Thus they created and funded the LZCG. Without its financial support and added manpower, Zambia wouldn’t have begun to make an impact on poaching. The lack of funding from the government made it impossible for the understaffed rangers to cover all of Zambia’s vast lands. LZCG’s employees took up the slack, covering borders and patrolling areas, working alongside the rangers. Some of them had been deputized and could make arrests. They were constantly assisting every ranger on the force, including Wynne when she asked for help. No one would suspect the LZCG insider of poaching. It was the perfect smoke screen.

      The furrow on Eieb’s brow loosened and he seemed a little more amenable to the idea. “Okay, just suppose you’re correct. Who could it be?”

      “I don’t know. Hey, it could be anyone.” The LZCG board members flashed in Wynne’s mind and for some reason the enigmatic handsome features of Noah Hellstrom stuck. She had seen the way he walked into a room and owned it, his charisma and presence electrifying the air. With just one smile, he had the ability to charm anyone out of anything. Four months ago, LZCG’s board СКАЧАТЬ