CHAPTER 24

Niassa Game Reserve

Mozambique, Africa

March

THE HEAT OF MIDDAY was intense and Reece’s clothing was soaked from the fast-paced hike. Louie began to off-load gear from the Cruiser, directing Muzi to hand him this or that item from the bed. Reece lent a hand with the unloading but felt very much in the way of what was obviously a well-oiled team. Within minutes, a mini-campsite had been erected in the shade of a giant baobab tree complete with a small folding table and chairs. The top of the cooler had been covered with a cloth and converted into a small buffet table of Tupperware containers. Reece couldn’t help but marvel at the dedication to tradition. It was almost as if Europe’s sons in the colonies had maintained their proud customs long after they’d been abandoned in the Old World. The ex-British in Africa seemed more “British” than those in Great Britain. Reece wondered whether the separation from the European aftermath of World War II had something to do with it.

Louie motioned for Reece to fill his plate at the buffet. There appeared to be enough food for a dozen men and Reece piled his plate high, still feeling the effects of the beer, wine, and liquor consumed the previous evening. Reece took a seat and noticed that there were only two chairs arranged at the table. Muzi stood at the truck, his coverall top tied at the waist as a break from the heat, watching with interest as Louie made himself a plate. Reece put his fork down and watched curiously to see what would happen. When Louie sat down to eat, Muzi approached the table and picked up two of the food containers, which he carried to the base of a tree some twenty yards away, then sat. Reece had worked with enough indigenous troops in various corners of the world to understand that not everyone shared the West’s view of equality. Regardless, caste systems always made him uncomfortable. He decided not to make an issue of it on his first day, but it nagged at him as he ate.

Though the SEAL Teams were predominantly Caucasian, they were color-blind as a culture. The military was, in many ways, far ahead of the rest of American society in terms of racial equality. While elements of segregation existed in the United States well into the 1960s, the military was integrated by Harry Truman soon after World War II. In the military, particularly in the special operations community, no one cared what color you were or what neighborhood you grew up in so long as you added value to the Team; it was always about the Team.

Reece was in the difficult position of not wanting to offend his hosts while at the same time wanting to treat everyone on the team equally. These were the cultural issues that often made training foreign militaries difficult. The reason that the Army’s Special Forces ODAs were so good was that they trained specifically to deal with these cultural challenges. Reece was more comfortable kicking in doors. Baby steps.

They ate ravenously, and mostly in silence. After the morning’s quiet stalking, it almost seemed like a sin to speak loudly in the bush. The heat had silenced most of the animal sounds as well; the cacophony of bird noises that had filled the morning air had quieted to a few faint calls in the distance. Reece watched a butterfly land on a nearby branch and thought of Lucy. She would have called it a “lellow flutterby, ” most likely. She would have loved it here.

Louie finished his plate, stretched his feet out in front of him, and shifted his wide-brimmed bush hat forward to shield his face from the daylight. Reece looked to Muzi and saw that he was in a similar posture. Apparently, it was nap time for humans as well as animals and it didn’t take long for Reece to join them in slumber.

• • •

The sound of movement broke Reece from his sleep. He lifted the cap from his eyes and saw Louie and Muzi quietly loading their makeshift camp back into the truck. He rubbed his eyes and looked down at his watch.

“Good nap, eh? ” Louie asked in a low voice.

“Oh yeah, ” Reece said with a yawn. “I could get used to this. ”

“It’s not a bad life, is it? ”

Reece had always relished the clarity of his combat deployments. The distractions of daily life were pushed aside to focus solely on the objective of finding and killing the enemy. His short time in Africa connected him with that clarity, but without the responsibility of leading men into battle or dealing with a chain of command. There was something primal about this existence. It struck him that his nap had been free of the nightmares that had plagued him of late. He was beginning to feel human again.

“We’re going to head west and check things out along the river, make sure the roads are getting to be passable, ” Louie announced.

Reece appreciated being kept in the loop, which made him feel less like a mere observer and more like an active participant learning the ropes. Muzi returned to his perch in the bed of the truck while Louie and Reece climbed inside. Louie lit a cigarette before cranking the motor, offering the pack to Reece, who shook his head.

They had barely traveled a mile down the bumpy track when Muzi began to tap on the roof. Louie stopped the Cruiser and listened as the tracker spoke in hushed Shona. He put the truck in reverse and backed up twenty or so yards before killing the engine, grabbing his binoculars from the dashboard, and peering into the mopane scrub to the right of the vehicle. Reece raised his own binoculars and leaned forward to get a glimpse of what had caught their attention.

“Bastards, ” Louie hissed as he opened the driver’s-side door. “Let’s go, grab your rifle from Muzi. ”

Reece quietly opened his door and found the stock of his borrowed. 404 already extended in his direction. He accepted the rifle and pulled the bolt back to confirm its condition. He walked carefully around the front of the truck and joined Louie, who was standing on the sandy road.

“Eland, ” Louie said as he lowered his binoculars and pointed into the trees. Reece followed his extended finger and could just make out the tawny hide of a giant antelope through the brush. Louie kicked at the sand with the toe of his suede Veldskoen ankle boot to test the wind, the dust blowing perpendicular to the antelope’s direction.

“He’s hurt. Probably caught in a snare. Let’s go have a look. ”

Reece nodded and took his place in line as they moved off the trail. They stalked quietly, taking their time as they closed the distance with the wounded antelope. At fifty yards, Muzi halted and took a knee. Louie and Reece raised their binoculars and took in the gruesome sight. The ordinarily massive eland bull was skin and bones, the sun filtering through the forest and shining on the corners of his hips, ribs, and spine. There was something embedded in his haunches. If the bull was aware of their presence, he didn’t show it. Louie leaned back to whisper in Reece’s ear.

“He needs to be put down. Are you comfortable with that? ”

Don’t take him before it’s his time, Reece. His father’s words echoed the wisdom of generations past.

It’s past his time, Reece thought, sidestepping to the right and bracing his left hand against the trunk of a small tree. He moved the flag-type safety with his thumb and exhaled slowly. His finger touched the trigger as the front sight found the bull’s shoulder and he began to increase pressure. Reece’s shoulder absorbed the recoil as the sights rocked skyward. Without taking the butt from his shoulder, he cycled the action and reacquired his sight picture.

“Nice shot. He’s down, ” Louie said as he patted Reece on the shoulder. Muzi began walking directly toward the fallen animal and the other two men followed. Reece never took pleasure in the killing of an animal. Though putting finger to trigger or nocking an arrow and bringing a bow to full draw was the culmination of one’s training and preparation, it wasn’t something Reece celebrated. Instead, after sending his bullet or releasing his arrow, he’d approach the animal quietly, kneel, and place his hand on the creature he’d taken to provide for his family. He respected the wild others, much more so than the men he’d put in the ground.

Flies were everywhere. A wire snare had entangled the eland’s leg, just above the hoof, and the wound had festered for weeks. The hoof itself had been severed, leaving nothing for the animal to walk on but a horribly infected stump covered in maggots. A homemade ax was embedded in its back between the hips, and a massive gash on the bull’s face was probably made with the same weapon. A big eland bull in prime condition can weigh close to a ton; this one wouldn’t weigh half that.

The law of club and fang, Reece thought, remembering a classic novel from his youth.

Whatever poacher had trapped the eland indiscriminately with the wire snare had attempted, unsuccessfully, to kill it with the ax. The bull’s flesh would have brought a significant sum in the local bush meat trade. The skin and horns had value as well. Nature is a cruel place, but this animal’s suffering was purely man-made. Reece was enraged at the poachers’ callous disregard for the suffering of their quarry. He was just beginning to learn about life in the African bush, but he knew more than a little about hunting men and he was about to apply those ample skills to a new cause.

As Reece stared at the gruesome scene, Louie retrieved a small pack and a jerry can from the Cruiser. He took a notebook from the bag and made some notes, glancing at his watch as well as a small GPS unit. When he was finished, he took detailed photos with a digital camera to document the atrocity. His documentation of the scene complete, he nodded to Muzi, who cleared the brush around the carcass with his panga. Louie doused the eland with diesel fuel and flicked his cigarette toward the bluish fluid, the smell of burning hair and flesh bringing Reece back to dark places in his past.

• • •

After dinner that night, Rich Hastings invited Reece back to the fire pit for a drink.

“Nasty business today, eh? ”

“The total disregard for suffering reminded me of Iraq at the height of the war. ”

“They’re the same kind of people. They don’t care about anything or anyone but themselves. For some of these blokes it’s just a way to make a living, but that doesn’t excuse the suffering. We provide jobs and meat to the surrounding villages, so most of the poaching is to feed the Chinese camps that are exploiting the natural resources of this country with only the politicians that made the deals getting rich on the take. Now I’m starting to talk like a greenie. ”

Rich shook his head, staring into the burning embers. “The real bad actors are the men at the top. They profit, while those doing the killing take all the risk. Sound familiar, James? The general public in Europe and the States don’t see the difference between what we do and what the poachers do. Without us here, the game would be gone. We’re out there protecting it because it has value to our business, sure, but we also love this place and these animals. We manage and conserve it for the next generation. The poachers, on the other hand, would wipe the game out in a year or two if we let them have their go. Look at what happened in Kenya in ’77. They banned hunting because the poaching was out of control. With the hunters out of the field, it was open season for the poaching syndicates. They killed half a million elephants in no time at all. We’ll lose out in the end and that will be that. The game will be left to the poachers. ”

“How can I help, Rich? I think I could be an asset if we put some thought into it. ” Before I die, he almost added before thinking better of it.

“The boys and I have done our best to keep the poachers in check but we all have other jobs to do. I don’t know what your long-term plans are, but you should consider studying to be a PH. It takes a few years but with your background I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly. ”

“To be honest, I haven’t been thinking long-term, ” Reece replied, remembering his brain tumor.

“Well, let me do that for you. Tomorrow you’ll start working for us as an appy. You can run our antipoaching efforts. I’ll give you two good trackers. They’ll at least keep you from getting lost. Learn everything you can from them. They’re uneducated in the formal sense but they are professors of the bush. ”

“I’ll do what I can, Rich. ”

“I know you will, son. I know you will. ”

• • •

Reece set his alarm to wake him before dawn; he had a job to do. Despite a long career in the military, Reece wasn’t an early riser by nature. Whenever he did wake up early, he felt like he was in on a secret, one that those still in bed would never know.

Though it was before 6: 00 a. m., he could already hear the hum of the diesel generators powering the camp so the cooks could perform their morning rituals. Just like overseas.

It was time to gear up for work. He turned on the small lamp on the bedside table and once again laid out the gear that he’d taken from the boat, this time with more focus. He had his Glock 19, its holster, and three spare magazines. There was a SureFire flashlight, a Petzl headlamp, a folding knife, and a Gerber multitool. He had his watch, his small Garmin, boots, and new clothing thanks to Richard Hastings. He picked up his Winkler-Sayoc tomahawk and examined the curved edge, remembering when he’d used it last to remove the head of the man who had arranged the ambush of his SEAL troop in Iraq. All told, it was less than he was used to working with, but it was enough. He thought of World War II UDTs like his grandfather, who got it done with little more than a mask, swim fins, a knife, and maybe an M3 “grease gun. ”

Reece dressed for the field in his boots, shorts, and an olive button-down shirt. He picked up his Glock from the bed and released the magazine to ensure that it was loaded with fifteen rounds. Reinserting the mag, he pulled back the slide far enough to confirm that a 9mm round was in the chamber before stuffing it under his pillow. None of the other PHs wore sidearms, and if he wanted to blend in he was going to have to leave his pistol behind. The remainder of the gear went into his backpack, which he slung over a shoulder as he headed off in search of coffee, his rifle in one hand like a suitcase, binoculars in a harness around his neck.

The dining area was empty in the predawn darkness, but he found fresh coffee and poured himself a cup. The cook had already taken note that Reece liked to add honey to his coffee and had placed a jar beside the cream on the buffet table. Say what you want about the journey to get to this place, at least the service was good.

As if on cue, the cook appeared carrying a plate of toast.

“Good morning, Patrã o. ” The cook smiled broadly, genuinely happy to see him.

“Good morning. ”

“Eggs for you? ”

“Sure, eggs would be great. Thank you. ”

“Right away, Patrã o. ” The cook bowed his head slightly and headed back toward the kitchen.

Reece was somewhat embarrassed by being waited on hand and foot but he figured he could get used to it. He took a seat at the table and enjoyed the solitude as he drank his coffee. He was halfway done with his eggs and toast by the time the rest of the camp made their way, one by one, to the table. They all ate in relative silence. The work was hard and the hours long, with few breaks during the season.

Rich Hastings finished his breakfast and addressed Reece.

“James, today you’ll go out with your trackers. They are good men, Solomon and Gona. They came with me from Zimbabwe but they know this place as well as anyone and won’t steer you wrong. ”

“Thanks, Rich. ”

Reece rose from the table and followed Hastings toward the white Toyota Land Cruiser. The sun was starting to rise and the camp was bathed in the pinkish-gray light of the African dawn. The two men loading the truck stopped when they saw Hastings and Reece approach and stood next to each other alongside the truck with their hands at their sides in a relaxed version of the military position of attention. The taller of the two men was also the youngest. He appeared to be in his twenties, thin and muscular. He wore olive-green coveralls and a British desert camouflage boonie hat with the sides turned up. He was good-looking and carried himself with an air of confidence that set him apart from the other trackers Reece had met.

“Reece, this is Solomon. ”

The young man smiled warmly and extended his hand to Reece, who shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Solomon. ”

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Reece, ” he said in perfect, though accented, English.

“You can just call me Reece. ”

Reece wasn’t worried about using his real name among the workers. If anyone was looking for him, he’d be dead and buried from the tumor long before anyone questioned a game tracker in East Africa about a man last seen on an affluent island off the east coast of the United States.

“Yes, sir. ”

The second man was smaller and older, probably closer to Reece’s age. His skin was very dark, which contrasted sharply with his tan coveralls and ball cap. A skinning knife hung from the fabric belt around his waist.

“This is Gona. ”

“Very nice to meet you as well, Gona. ”

Gona’s face remained stoic as Reece shook the man’s hand.

“Gona, Mr. Reece is a good friend of Utilivu. ”

Suddenly, the tracker’s eyes brightened.

“Mr. James! You remember me, you remember Gona? ”

“Gona! Of course! Great to see you again! ” Reece said in the midst of an enthusiastic handshake, remembering the tracker from his trip to Zimbabwe with Raife all those years ago.

“How is Utilivu? ”

“Raife is great, Gona. He’s really doing well. I know he misses tracking with you. ”

Hastings bid them good luck as they loaded up. Solomon drove, Reece sat in the passenger seat, and Gona rode on the high seat in the bed. They mostly worked the perimeter roads that bordered the concession, looking for signs that poachers had crossed onto the property.

There has to be a more effective and efficient way to do this, Reece thought.

It was past noon when Reece’s stomach began to protest. He’d become accustomed to his hosts dictating the schedule and it struck him that his men were waiting for him to tell them it was time to eat.

“Let’s stop somewhere for lunch, Solomon. ”

“Yes, there is a good place just ahead. ” Solomon’s mood brightened at the mention of food.

When the truck stopped, Reece climbed into the bed and helped the men unload the chairs, cooler, and other assorted gear that made up the lunchtime spread. He made sure that he was the one setting up the folding camp chairs, setting three of them in a triangle under the shade of the tree that they’d parked under. This drew strange looks from Solomon and Gona as they wondered who else might be joining them. When the food containers were opened on the table, Reece motioned for the men to make their plates.

“No, no. You eat, Mr. Reece. ”

“We are changing things up. You guys eat first. ”

The two trackers exchanged puzzled looks.

“Go on, make your plates, guys. ” Reece motioned toward the food.

The men shrugged and moved toward the table. Solomon went first, making a plate for himself, and then walking toward the base of the tree to sit.

“No, no. Sit in the chair. You guys are eating with me. If we’re going to be a team, we’ll eat together, at least out here. ”

Solomon hesitated for a minute and then broke into a smile and took his place in one of the chairs. Reece was building a team, and in the close-knit world of special operations, where officers and enlisted men trained, fought, slept, and bled in the same mud, leaders ate last. Reece thought of his SEAL Teams, the skills developed and honed through the hunting of men as they dismantled and destroyed terrorist networks across the globe. Reece was adapting those skills to a different battlefield against a new adversary. It was time to hunt again.

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