LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

piece in someone’s political game. You’re too valuable to the agency. I won’t let that happen. I’m not gonna let your reputation be tarnished. I’m not letting you go back till this has blown over. If, at all.”

      “Director, I’ll quit before you put me anywhere else. Piedras Coloradas is now my home. I’ll stay out of sight, anything, but I want to go home to New Mexico.”

      Joe cleared his throat, pulling attention his way. He turned to the director. “What’ve you got in mind, Ben? Maybe a short detail in another park?”

      “Maybe,” the director said, giving it thought. “Wait . . .” He reached for a notepad and flipped back a few pages. He tapped a finger over an entry circled in yellow. He read, then raised his eyes, letting them settle on Jack. “Got a passport?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Government or personal?”

      “Uh, . . . both, I guess. Unless one’s expired.”

      “Government passport downstairs?”

      “I think so.”

      “Good.” Lucas gave him a crooked smile. “Jack, you’re going to Africa. Kenya, to be exact.”

      Jack shot a confused look.

      The director picked up a pencil and tapped his notepad. “I’ve got a technical assistance request from Kenya, for two people. I’m sending you.”

      “I’m not two people.”

      “No, but you’re a biologist. It’s complicated. They’ve requested a biologist and a manager, a senior executive. I think it best that we send only a scientist. No manager.”

      “What kind of scientist?”

      Lucas leaned over his notes. “It says, either a large ungulate biologist, or an ecologist, or a range scientist.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t know for sure. All I know is, a couple of rangers were killed by poachers. They’re afraid one’s work will end if no one keeps it going.”

      “Poachers?”

      “I don’t like the sound of this,” Joe muttered. “Before now, who were you sending?”

      “I wasn’t.” The director flashed another crooked smile. “Sounded too dangerous. But compared to political crucifixion, it suddenly sounds manageable.”

      “Not sure it does to me,” Jack said.

      The director cocked an eyebrow. “This is an order.” He paused, letting the words settle in. “Do not leave headquarters, at least not alone. This is to be an intellectual exercise. Train someone to do the work. No field work for you. No going to dangerous places. Got that?”

      “I’d like to talk you out of this. I’d prefer to go home.”

      “Not a chance. Answer me. You will not leave headquarters.”

      “Uh, . . .”

      The director stared back.

      “Uh, . . . ” Jack sighed. “I will not leave headquarters.”

      “I’ll get your passport sent up from downstairs. Make travel plans. Leave as soon as you can.” He slid the pad across the desk. “Here’s your point of contact.”

      Jack studied the information.

      Samuel Leboo, Senior Warden. Nairobi National Park, Nairobi, Kenya.

      He slid it back to the director. “Why only me? Why not two, like they requested?”

      “I’m not sure many in Kenya want this to happen. They seem suspicious.”

      “Then why the request?”

      “It doesn’t appear to be their idea. It was pushed by powerful interests in the wildlife conservation community. Politics are involved. Politics I don’t understand. Politics, I want no part of. But, scientists . . . ?” He smiled. “Scientists, regardless of politics, they get along. They find ways to work together. They collaborate. They achieve things, even with egos involved. They’re focused on their science, so that’s what you are. A scientist, nothing more.”

      “I guess I kinda resemble that remark. At least I used to.”

      “Don’t let anyone think you’re more than that. You might hear things—I’d be interested to learn what—but show no interest. Soak it up. Stay out of it. Stay a scientist.”

      Jack nodded.

      “Give ’em two weeks, maybe three. That should be enough to let this blow over. Brief me when you get back.”

      Jack stood.

      “One more thing,” Lucas said, walking them to the door. “Do not get yourself killed.”

      Chapter

      8

      In the dark of night, KLM Flight 9964 circled on approach to Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Staring out the window, Jack Chastain saw the lights of a vast and variable cityscape. Nairobi.

      So this is Kenya?

      The jet landed and taxied to the terminal.

      Upon disembarking, in cargo pants and tan cotton shirt, he walked the concourse, made it through immigration with little inconvenience, strolled to baggage claim, then customs, then past the last of security. Near the exit, he stepped around other travelers —many in clothing suggesting imminent safaris—and began looking for signs of someone or something there to collect him. What will it be? A placard? He saw none. He scanned the concourse, then noticed a slender, graying, somewhat crusty looking African man, a scar on his chin, wearing a camo uniform and brown beret. Jack veered toward him. “Here for an American?”

      “Indeed, I am, sir.”

      Jack extended a hand. “Jack Chastain, U.S. National Park Service.”

      The man shook the hand, uttering something, followed by what might have been, “. . . Senior Warden, Kenya Wildlife Service.”

      Accent. Almost British, but . . . “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the name. My ear’s not yet adjusted to . . . .”

      “I understand,” the man said, his bearing disciplined, almost military. “My name, Mr. Jack, is Samuel Leboo.”

      He let the pronunciations rattle around his brain a moment. “Good to meet you, Samuel. Sorry I took a late flight.”

      “There is no problem. Day or night, I work them all.” He glanced at Jack’s bags. “Your luggage? Has it arrived?”

      “This is all I have.”

      “You travel light.”

      “Spur of the moment. I might pick up a few things later, unless you’re taking me to the middle of nowhere. In that case, it’d be good to buy a few clothes.”

      “You will not be in the middle of nowhere. You are in the only capital in the world that is also a wildlife reserve. If you need, I can provide clothing items. I can dress you like a ranger.”

      “I’m accustomed to that.”

      “You’re tall, but not as tall as Maasai. If I can find trousers for them, I can find trousers for you.”

      “I’ll try not to need them.”

      “Follow me.”

      They exited the terminal, into hot night air. Leboo led him past lines of vehicles picking up passengers for various accommodations, some advertising safaris. Crossing the road, a strangely striped vehicle whizzed past, swerving to miss them.

      “If

Скачать книгу