Chapter 14

Daiki Nakamura stood perplexed, not believing his eyes, as he stared at a sight he thought he would never encounter in his life. Right before him, in the main hall of the Sir Seretse Khama International Airport, right here in the middle of Southern Africa. He could not believe his eyes. In the middle of the main hall, surrounded by a steel railing and glass, stood a life-size sculpture of an elephant.

The most remarkable thing of all was that the sculpture was made out of two point five tonnes of ivory tusks. Real ivory tusks, formed and cut to fit the proportions of a life-size elephant. There was a fortune right before his eyes, and it was not his. How can people be so blatant and ban the ivory trade, but here in Africa, they make useless sculptures out of it? They have so much of it, they can waste it on sculptures.

What Daiki did not know was that the elephant sculpture, made of real ivory, from elephants, that died of natural causes, represented the commitment of the Botswana government, to eradicate all trade in ivory. The sculpture was there to symbolise the importance of the elephant, and what its conservation meant to the people of Africa. Daiki did not see the plague, that gave the whole story, attached in front of the sculpture, so to him, it was a waste of ivory.

A little dejected, Daiki turned away and went to a nearby coffee shop, maybe he could get some tea there. He was a little tired after the three flights from Tokyo. Twelve hours from Tokyo to Dubai. Eight and a half hours from Dubai to Johannesburg, with just enough time to get to their connecting flight from Johannesburg to Gabarone. That took another two hours.

As he walked into the coffee shop he noticed four people at a table next to a window. He would not have taken any interest in them only that the four people, two men and two women, were dressed in flight suits.

What really caught his attention, was that the one woman looked Asian. Somewhere from the east, China or Vietnam. Definitely Vietnamese, her facial features were soft and leaned more towards a white western beauty. Daiki wished he could hear her voice, then he would be positive if she were Vietnamese. These girls are usually very feminine, caring, approachable and proactive, but can turn into a snarling tigress if provoked.

Uncharacteristically, her long jet-black hair was tied back in a ponytail. She sat facing him; he looked, of course he looked; he’s a man. She had pilot wings on her left breast pocket. Funny to have a pilot of eastern origin fly in Africa, and a woman at that. But then again, was it not two Vietnamese sisters, Trưng Trắc and Trưng Nhị, who, together with an army of men and women, kicked China’s powerful Hans Empire out of Vietnam in 40 AD? Be careful of these Vietnamese beauties, no soft little kittens.

Daiki sat down at a table and took the menu. He scanned the menu for the drinks section. There must be tea here in Africa. Daiki’s companions were getting their luggage, and then will join him for refreshments, before looking for a rental vehicle; something to suit their off-road travel.

A movement from the window-side table caught his eye; the four pilots were leaving, and Daiki wondered about the object of their mission. They were obviously military. Normal airline pilots and crew wore the white shirts and black pants outfits. These four were in green military flight suits. Funny, but this is Africa, here, they do things the other way around.

When the four passed his table on their way out, Daiki heard the black-haired girl remark to the redheaded one: “Back home in three or four days. I can’t wait.” The redhead replied with something Daiki did not understand; a foreign language of European origin. Russian? Polish? Who cares? He just concentrated on the black-haired beauty who spoke without an accent. Ok, only a very slight eastern accent. Yes, she was definitely of eastern origin. Daiki wondered where she lived. He never dated a pilot before.

There were only a few people in the coffee shop, about fifteen including Daiki. As the four pilots left the coffee shop, Daiki overheard someone at the next table commenting on them. They were here for the coming air show tomorrow, something everyone was looking forward to. At one hundred Pula, a bargain admission price for the day. (P 100.00 = 133.90 South African Rand, US $9.10, or 1007.23 Japanese Yen, at the current exchange rate.)

Daiki found tea on the menu. The waiter approached him, took his order and departed. With nothing else to do, Daiki folded his hands on his lap, sat back and looked out the window towards the apron.

To his left, he saw two aircraft parked. Obviously very old war aircraft. He wondered at the age of the aircraft. He knew that Africa was a little slow in acquiring new technology, but this was a little too much. Then he recalled the conversation from the next-door table. Yes, that would be it. The aircraft are here for the air-show. What a disappointment, that he would not be here to see the show. Maybe they would stream it on the net, he should find out if there is a link.

“Tea any good?” One of his companions asked, as he slid into a seat opposite of Daiki.

“We’ll have to wait and see. The waiter just took my order,” Daiki said. Through the window he saw the four flight suit-clad pilots walk out to the two jets. Yes, they’re here for the air-show. That jets are obviously their rides.

One jet looks like an Italian job, and the other one more or less British. Oh, well, let him concentrate on the task at hand. He has to find the Major.

He has to find out why there is no shipment. Has the Major been short-changing them? Has he found another buyer? All will be revealed shortly. He won’t kill the Major too badly. A little blood, maybe a broken leg or two, who knows? Kneecap? Yes, a kneecap is always good. The message stays for a long time to come!

(On the farm near Brits, North-west Province, South Africa. Laura was sitting in Don’s office chair at his desk, taking a call from Don on her cell phone.)

“What do you mean, you’re gonna strike the poacher’s camp?” Laura exclaimed.

“Dave and I will go in. One pass each with the planes and hit them with rockets. Softening up the target for the ground forces mopping up and arrest those still breathing.” Don said.

“And while you lot have some fun, Tracy and I must sit here and drool?” Laura, said, fuming. “I want some action too. It’s been a long time.”

“I know darling, but we have to strike while the iron is hot.”

“I miss you, you know. Or, are you having too much fun with Mai-Loan?” Giggle.

“Oh, darling, you know you’re number one for me. I miss you also. I miss your kisses and snuggles and...”

“Oh, so Mai-Loan is not good for you. I’ll have to straighten her out!”

“Come now Laura, you know how it goes.” Don said. “Don’t take it out on Mai. You’ll always be my number one. It’s just, well, we are here, and things are developing at a fast rate. Even Dave has a girlfriend and a half-adopted daughter, halfway to Pretoria.”

“Half adopted daughter? How so?” Giggle. Laura asked.

“Long story. I’ll let him tell you when we’re back,” Don said.

“Can’t be a longer story than Tracy-Laura-Mai-Don quadrangle.” Giggle. Laura said and Don laughed.

“Might be a Lisa-Lucy-Nadia-Dave quadrangle. Looks like the Polish girl is making goo-goo eyes at Dave.” Don said.

“One of the Angels, the petite one with the red hair?” Laura asked.

“Same one. Green eyes and freckles too, just a little older than Tracy. She’s twenty. Tracy’s only fourteen.” Don said.

“Almost fifteen, remember? Tracy keeps reminding us. Almost fifteen, she would say. Ooooh, and I’m missing all the fun out there.” Laura said. “What’s Dave saying about our Polish princess?”

“Nah, he’s all innocent right now. He doesn’t suspect a thing. He is torn up about Lisa and Lucy, can’t decide on either of them, but he is blind about Nadia.”

“Go! Hit your poachers. Then, bring Dave and his whole pack back here. We girls will sort it out!” Laura said, referencing the earlier idea of the wolf pack. (See Return to Sender.)

“Yes, could be a plan. But don’t underestimate Lisa, she’s a doctor. A vet, but a qualified doctor, title and all. A sweet girl. Didn’t let the ‘doctor’ go to her head.” Don said.

“Good. Bring them. I like a challenge.” Giggle. Just then Tracy looked around the study door.

“You talking to Poppa-Don?” She asked, eyelashes fluttering. Big smile on her lips.

“Yeah. You wanna say hello to him?” Laura asked Tracy, then to Don. “Your other wife wanna talk to you.”

“Put her on. Let me soothe soul her a bit.” Don said.

“Okay, Love, have fun out there. I’m gonna go ride a few kilometres on the horse now. Love you.”

“Take Tracy with you. Love you, Laura. I’ll soon be back. Bye for now.”

(Back to the airport.)

“You finished with your call?” Mai-Loan asked Don.

“Yip, they love you too, and miss us both.” Don said.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s mount up and get out of here. I don’t like so many people around.” Mai-Loan said.

“Dave, let’s go, bud!” Don called over to Dave at the Impala. With Nadia looking on, Dave was checking that all the external hatches were closed and locked on the Impala.

“Ready for start-up!” Dave called back.

“Okay Dave, you with your low take-off angle and climb out, go first. Go right circuit, then 360 overhead at 3500, and we’ll join up with you in loose formation.” Don said, getting a thumbs up from Dave.

The ground crew for both jets, supplied by the local aviation geek club, took their places for the start-up of both jets. About sixty metres away, a civilian MI-8, ex Russian helicopter, sat silently on the apron. Once the jets departed, the ground crew will board the “Hip,” and fly out to rendezvous with the jets at their destination.

Twenty-five minutes later, Daiki stood next to the newly rented Ford Ranger 4 × 4 and looked up into the sky as the two jets joined up in loose formation overhead the airport, turning right on a course slightly north of north-west.

The thunderous roar of three Rolls-Royce engines, one Viper and two Spey engines, blasted the midday air. Daiki smiled. Once he got things sorted out, maybe, just maybe, he should go for a pilot’s licence. It looked so good to be free and unlimited in the blue sky, chasing your own shadow among the clouds. He shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind, and got into the 4 × 4.

The flight into Francistown went right to plan. Don and the Bucc went in first as I did an overshoot, next to the runway. I pulled up into a go-around and came in on Francistown’s 7229-foot runway 11. Don and Mai-Loan had cleared the runway by this time and were taxiing over to the parking area. I was wondering if we would be able to get the Bucc airborne again with the all-up weight for the mission. Don doesn’t seem to be too worried. At least he has rocket assisted take off rocket motors installed. Should be fun to watch!

After parking the two jets and shutting down, no time was wasted in getting them into a nearby cleared hangar. Fitting the rocket pods would be dealt with in the secure environment, out of sight of prying eyes.

The four of us departed to our accommodation, arranged for us right there on the airfield. The accommodation would prove to be adequate. Not spartan, but neither were they upmarket VIP. But who cares? We just need to sleep, eat and drink. No alcoholic beverages. Coffee, tea, sodas, or bottled water. In Africa, you boil tap water before consuming it. Trust me, you don’t want to take a crap at 400 knots in a g-suit!

The accommodation was two little red brick two-bedroom houses with green tile roofs. They were on the eastern side of the airport’s main building, only about three hundred metres away. The aircraft were housed in an old world war two hangar to the south of our housing. Don and Mai-Loan took one of the two little houses. That left Nadia and me to share the other house. No problem, there are two rooms.

A knock on my door rousted me out of a quick catnap. My flight suit was discarded in favour of cargo shorts and a t-shirt. I got up from the knobby bed and went to the door, opening it.

“Thought you would like something cold and wet, or an ice cream.” Giggle. There was this petite redhead standing in my doorway, hands folded shyly in front of her. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, with flip-flops on her tiny feet. Her curly red hair was loose over her shoulders and her green eyes sparkled.

“That’s a thought!” I said. “Where do you suppose we can start searching?”

“Well ... They have this restaurant out over at the main terminal building.” Nadia said. “We can start there and work our way back. My treat.”

“Okay, little girl, let’s go get the lay of the land here. I just need some shoes first,” I said. Nadia stayed put at the door. “Come in, don’t stand there looking lost, just now someone might steal you.”

“Mała dziewczynka,” Giggle. Nadia said.

“What’s that?” I asked, getting my sandals and putting them on, jumping around to affect the task.

“Mala dziewczynka, little girl. You think I’m a little girl, a mala dziewczynka.” Giggle.

“Not what I meant ... It is more a term of endearment, not meaning you’re a little girl.” I back pedaled. “You’re what, five-four, five-five?”

“One point six metres.” Nadia said.

“Okay, five feet two inches. Small frame, little girl,” I said.

“It’s okay. I know what you mean. I’m just, how do you say, pulling your chain.” Giggle.

The two of us went out of my room, locking the door, and walked over to the main terminal building. If Seretsi Khama airport was devoid of air traffic, this place was desolate. One Fokker Friendship stood baking in the African sun. Over at the military hangar our ground crew’s MiI MI-8 was parked near the shady side of the hangar. Silver foil sunscreens over the windshields were reflecting the sun like a mirror.

“I hope to get a cold ‘sok’ ... ah, a fruit juice here.” Nadia said. I looked at her.

“If we keep dating around here, I suppose I need to learn Polish.” I said, not keeping track of the words I used.

“Are we, like dating?” Nadia asked.

“Oh, I meant, when we, like hangout together.” I back pedaled again. Nadia burst out laughing.

“Okay, we’ll ... like, ah, hangout together.” Giggle. Nadia said. “And stop blushing. That’s reserved for us women!” Still laughing.

“You’re a riot, you know.” Nadia said, while I was trying to compose myself and trying to reconcile the idea of this little bundle of energy being part of the deadly Angels.

By this time, a giggling Nadia and I got to the main terminal building. The air-conditioning in the building was a welcome relief. The restaurant was empty, and we had a choice of seating.

We went over to the rear of the place and sat down in a booth. Nadia took the seat facing the door, her eyes alert to all the goings-on inside the place. Survival instinct, I suppose. Also, part of her training. I keep forgetting that Nadia was a highly trained military girl. I took the menu and scanned it.