Burning Angels

59

The big German conservationist fished in his pocket. He thrust something at Narov. ‘A memory stick. Photos of the kid. While he stayed with us, my staff took photos.’ He glanced from Narov to Jaeger. ‘I have no power to do anything. This is way bigger than me.’

‘Go on. Keep talking,’ Narov reassured him.

‘There’s not much more to say. All the kids who weren’t injected died. All those who were injected – the survivors – were herded outside, into the surrounding jungle. A large hole had been dug. They were gunned down and shovelled into that hole. The kid wasn’t hit, but he fell amongst the bodies.

Konig’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Imagine it – he was buried alive. Somehow he dug his way out again. It was night. He found his way to the airstrip and climbed aboard the Buffalo. The Buffalo flew him here… and the rest you know.’

Narov placed a hand on Konig’s arm. ‘Falk, there has to be more. Think. It is very important. Any details, whatever you can remember.’

‘There was maybe one thing. The kid said that on the flight in, they headed over the sea. So he figured this all took place on some kind of an island. That was why he knew he had to board the aircraft to have any chance of getting out of there.’

‘An island where?’ Jaeger probed. ‘Think, Falk. Any details – anything.’

‘The kid said the flight out from Nairobi took around two hours.’

‘A Buffalo’s got a cruising speed of three hundred m.p.h.,’ Jaeger remarked. ‘That means it’s got to be within a six-hundred-mile radius of Nairobi, so somewhere on the Indian Ocean.’ He paused. ‘You have a name? The kid’s name?’

‘Simon Chucks Bello. Simon is his English first name, Chucks his African. It’s Swahili. It means “great deeds of God”.’

‘Okay, so what happened to this kid? Where is he now?’

Konig shrugged. ‘He went back to the slums. He said it was the only place he would feel safe. It was where he had family. By that he meant his slum family.’

‘Okay, so how many Simon Chucks Bellos are there in the Nairobi slum?’ Jaeger mused. It was as much a question to himself as to Konig. ‘Twelve-year-old boy with that name – could we find him?’

Falk shrugged. ‘There are probably hundreds. And the people of the slums – they look after their own. It was the Kenyan police who rounded up those kids. Sold them for a few thousand dollars. The rule in the slum is: trust no one, and certainly not those in authority.’

Jaeger glanced at Narov, then back at Konig. ‘So, before the two of us do our Cinderella act, is there anything else we need to know?’

Konig shook his head morosely. ‘No. I think that is it. It is enough, yes?’

The three of them made their way back towards the vehicle. When they reached it, Narov stepped across and embraced the big German stiffly. It struck Jaeger that he had rarely seen her offer anyone simple physical closeness. A spontaneous hug.

This was a first.

‘Thank you, Falk – for everything,’ she told him. ‘And especially for all that you do here. In my eyes you are… a hero.’ For an instant their heads collided, as she gave him an awkward farewell kiss.

Jaeger climbed into the Toyota. Urio was behind the wheel with the engine running. Moments later, Narov joined them. They were about to pull away when she put out a hand to stop them. She gazed at Konig through the open side window.

‘You’re worried, aren’t you, Falk? There’s more? Something more?’

Konig hesitated. He was clearly torn. Then something inside him seemed to snap. ‘There is something… strange. It has been torturing me. This last year. Kammler told me that he had stopped worrying about the wildlife. He said: “Falk, keep alive a thousand elephants. A thousand will be enough.”’

He paused. Narov and Jaeger let the silence hang in the air. Give him time. The Toyota’s diesel engine thumped out a steady beat, as the conservationist mustered his courage to continue.

‘When he comes here, he likes to drink. I think he feels safe and secure in the isolation of this place. He is near his warplane in his sanctuary.’ Konig shrugged. ‘The last time he was here, he said: “There’s nothing more to worry about, Falk, my boy. I hold the final solution to all our problems in my hands. The end, and a new beginning.”

‘You know, in many ways Mr Kammler is a good man,’ Konig continued, a little defensively. ‘His love of wildlife is – or was – genuine. He speaks about his worries for the earth. Of extinction. He talks about the crisis of overpopulation. That we are like a plague. That humankind’s growth needs to be curtailed. And in a way, of course, he makes a fair point.

‘But he also enrages me. He speaks about the people here – the Africans; my staff; my friends – as savages. He laments the fact that black people inherited paradise and then decided to slaughter all the animals. But you know who buys the ivory? The rhino horn? You know who drives the slaughter? It is foreigners. All of it – smuggled overseas.’

Konig scowled. ‘You know, he speaks about the people here as the Untermenschen. Until I heard it from him, I did not think anyone still used that word. I thought it had died with the Reich. But when he is drunk, that is what he says. You know of course the meaning of this word?’

‘Untermenschen. Sub-humans,’ Jaeger confirmed.

‘Exactly. So I admire him for setting up this place. Here, in Africa. Where things can be so difficult. I admire him for what he says on conservation – that we are ruining the earth with blind ignorance and greed. But I also loathe him for his horrific – his Nazi – views.’

‘You need to get out of here,’ Jaeger remarked quietly. ‘You need to find a place where you can do what you do, but working with good people. This place – Kammler – it’ll consume you. Chew you up and spit you out again.’

Konig nodded. ‘You are probably right. But I love it here. Is there any place like this in the world?’

‘There isn’t,’ Jaeger confirmed. ‘But still you need to go.’

‘Falk, there is an evil here in paradise,’ Narov added. ‘And that evil emanates from Kammler.’

Konig shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But this is where I have invested my life and my heart.’

Narov eyed him for a long second. ‘Falk, why does Kammler feel he can trust you with so much?’

Konig shrugged. ‘I am a fellow German and a fellow lover of wildlife. I run this place – his sanctuary. I fight the battles… I fight his battles.’ His voice faltered. It was clear that he was reaching the absolute heart of the matter now. ‘But most of all… most of all it is because we are family. I am his flesh and blood.’

The tall, lean German glanced up. Hollow-eyed. Tortured. ‘Hank Kammler – he is my father.’