| Chapter Fifteen |
The owner/operator/kingpin of the poachers sat at his desk as always. Well, he always sat. Not necessarily at this
particular desk. He was not among the educated people that his poacher-for-hire Wolf admired so much. Life had been
his university, experience his professor. His degree was in “Take What You Want” with a focus in “Want a Lot”. At the
moment he was speaking via satellite phone in low tones to Wolf who was in the field. “I assume this has direct immediate
bearing on the menagerie project, Wolf. I was composing my memoirs.”
“Yes, Sir. It concerns an old friend of yours, and something he lost.”
“Wolf, I appreciate a good sense of the theatrical now and again, but…”
“Doctor Tashikoto. Cub Charlie.”
The seated man’s voice caught in his throat. Had he not been wheelchair ridden he would have stood to his feet. “Wolf, I
know you’re not fooling around, you’re not stupid. But are you sure?”
“I have reason to believe I’m looking at the aforementioned cub’s offspring. I have my hypernocs with me if your screen’s
on.”
The man called back to his assistant. “Victoria! Link Wolf’s hypernocs to my screen.” The young assistant from
Johannesburg had already begun the process and soon the monitor on the desk came to life, showing what Wolf was
seeing through his satellite-linked enhanced binoculars. It appeared to be a small fire. Then Wolf began to zoom in. It
soon became obvious that the flame was in fact the brightly colored tail tuft of a female lion cub. Bright red and orange
in its own right, but no less on fire. The cub was asleep; her tail was burning.
His voice quavering, not daring to really believe what he was seeing, the man gazed almost lovingly at the image of the
two sleeping cubs, one of which seemed unperturbed by her flaming extremity, giving orders to his lieutenant. “Wolf,
listen very carefully. At this point I wouldn’t mind if the rest of the haul died in their sleep. You bring me those two cubs
alive, and I’ll put a million American dollars cash in your hand myself”
Wolf’s grin was almost audible. “You want fries with that?”
The soon-to-be very, very rich poacher boss severed the communication. He sighed, stretched and reached for the
taxidermy he kept on his desk. He stroked its long-dead bleached skull as if it were still alive. The skeleton, frozen
forever in a pose more dignified than any it had assumed during life, was his one remainder from his former life. The old
days, the old trophies, the old enemies. The old continent.
He had had a near-death experience, which had bound him unto death in his wheel chair. His quarry had gotten away,
his enemy had made a fool of him; he had lost it all. But more than twenty years had passed. Through more sheer force
of will than anything else, he had plunged into the brave new world of rare and exotic poaching. He had made
connections, associations, allies, and lots and lots of blackmail material. He had made good use of the new tools
available to him: technology, African politics, and unscrupulous individuals with more real power than the nations they
operated out of.
“Victoria, I assume you’re contacting Dr. Tashikoto.”
“Negotiating with Imperial Black Ops central hub now, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He turned his attention back to his skeletal pet. “Well, well. Mr. Wolf was certainly a worthy investment, wasn’
t he? And you didn’t like him. Silly Joanna.”
particular desk. He was not among the educated people that his poacher-for-hire Wolf admired so much. Life had been
his university, experience his professor. His degree was in “Take What You Want” with a focus in “Want a Lot”. At the
moment he was speaking via satellite phone in low tones to Wolf who was in the field. “I assume this has direct immediate
bearing on the menagerie project, Wolf. I was composing my memoirs.”
“Yes, Sir. It concerns an old friend of yours, and something he lost.”
“Wolf, I appreciate a good sense of the theatrical now and again, but…”
“Doctor Tashikoto. Cub Charlie.”
The seated man’s voice caught in his throat. Had he not been wheelchair ridden he would have stood to his feet. “Wolf, I
know you’re not fooling around, you’re not stupid. But are you sure?”
“I have reason to believe I’m looking at the aforementioned cub’s offspring. I have my hypernocs with me if your screen’s
on.”
The man called back to his assistant. “Victoria! Link Wolf’s hypernocs to my screen.” The young assistant from
Johannesburg had already begun the process and soon the monitor on the desk came to life, showing what Wolf was
seeing through his satellite-linked enhanced binoculars. It appeared to be a small fire. Then Wolf began to zoom in. It
soon became obvious that the flame was in fact the brightly colored tail tuft of a female lion cub. Bright red and orange
in its own right, but no less on fire. The cub was asleep; her tail was burning.
His voice quavering, not daring to really believe what he was seeing, the man gazed almost lovingly at the image of the
two sleeping cubs, one of which seemed unperturbed by her flaming extremity, giving orders to his lieutenant. “Wolf,
listen very carefully. At this point I wouldn’t mind if the rest of the haul died in their sleep. You bring me those two cubs
alive, and I’ll put a million American dollars cash in your hand myself”
Wolf’s grin was almost audible. “You want fries with that?”
The soon-to-be very, very rich poacher boss severed the communication. He sighed, stretched and reached for the
taxidermy he kept on his desk. He stroked its long-dead bleached skull as if it were still alive. The skeleton, frozen
forever in a pose more dignified than any it had assumed during life, was his one remainder from his former life. The old
days, the old trophies, the old enemies. The old continent.
He had had a near-death experience, which had bound him unto death in his wheel chair. His quarry had gotten away,
his enemy had made a fool of him; he had lost it all. But more than twenty years had passed. Through more sheer force
of will than anything else, he had plunged into the brave new world of rare and exotic poaching. He had made
connections, associations, allies, and lots and lots of blackmail material. He had made good use of the new tools
available to him: technology, African politics, and unscrupulous individuals with more real power than the nations they
operated out of.
“Victoria, I assume you’re contacting Dr. Tashikoto.”
“Negotiating with Imperial Black Ops central hub now, Sir.”
“Excellent.” He turned his attention back to his skeletal pet. “Well, well. Mr. Wolf was certainly a worthy investment, wasn’
t he? And you didn’t like him. Silly Joanna.”
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