Ivory Ghosts Read Online Free PDF

elephant conservation efforts by selling government stockpiles of ivory obtained from natural mortalities and sustainable harvests. Several southern African countries were allowed to make two such sales, one in 1999 to Japan, and one in 2008 to both Japan and China. They were hoping that China would remain a good market for legal ivory sales, despite reports by some Chinese wildlife officials that it was too difficult to regulate a legal market in China.
    The rift between the preservationists and conservationists was a mile wide and no one wanted to give any ground. With estimates of one hundred elephants being killed in Africa on a daily basis, discussions quickly turned into heated debates and several players walked out.
    After my presentation, Craig Phipps approached me about this job. But, because I’d accepted so quickly, he seemed tentative. “There could be some dirty work involved,” he said in his British accent. “Asking questions about the ivory trade could get uncomfortable. I’m not going to lie about that.” He placed a thumb in his elegant belt and leaned up against the mahogany bar at Mala Mala, a private game reserve that hosted the farewell banquet for the conference. “Identifying players and routes is the real reason this job was funded, understood?” He took a slug of his single malt and looked me in the eye. “Are you up for that?”
    Desperate for a new life plan, I wasn’t going to let anything deter me, even though I knew I should have asked more questions. “Absolutely.”
    He was smart. I could see that he knew exactly what he was getting—someone with nothing left to lose.
    He explained that Mr. Baggs, the head of the local Ministry of Land and Conservation, would be told that I’d be the pilot helping local staff to census the regional elephant population. This gave me the excuse to get in on the ground level and have a look around.
    “You understand that this could take you down a very different path than counting elephants?”
    “I understand.” I nodded.
    “Good. And the pay is atrocious, of course.”
    I nodded.
    Craig stood up tall, held out his hand to shake mine, and then narrowed his eyes and whispered as we shook hands, “The Caprivi is a dangerous place.”

Chapter 4
    On the wall of the ministry office reception area was a faded poster advertising Environment Day from five years ago. A dusty kudu skull was mounted above it—a nice rack with two and a half twists. But it had been a long while since it was tended to. Moths had taken up residence in the horns, their long gray tubes hanging from the twists, making a tired beard.
    A bloated young woman, barely contained by her ministry uniform, put down her sticky deep-fried pastry as if my sudden presence was an inconvenience to her busy schedule. She shifted her weight in irritation, licked her pudgy fingers, and tried to suppress a deep cough as she asked in Afrikaans if she could be of assistance.
“Kan ek jou help?”
Her voice was harsh and raspy—a smoker, no doubt.
    “Yes, hello, I’m Catherine Sohon. I have an appointment with Mr. Baggs.”
    “Oh.” The woman rolled her eyes and pointed to a crooked chair.
    I sat down facing the entryway so that I wouldn’t have to look at her. I sensed that we’d both appreciate that gesture. I opened up a faded tourist magazine with more advertisements for safaris than content. My eye was drawn to picture of an attractive couple sitting on the deck of a pontoon houseboat having a drink at sunset:
Zambezi River Tours…Be Adventurous.
    Gidean had brought my repaired car to me early so I could get to the office first thing in the morning. They hadn’t found anything of interest at the crime scene, but the police dusted for prints before towing the vehicle and transferring the bodies to the morgue. They saved me some of the ivory chips so that WIA could do the genetic analysis. Once he got approval, Gidean would give them to me. Meanwhile, they were off to track the wounded