To Die Fur (A Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Mystery) (6 page)

“Well, I followed that fella down to a wide river, and that’s where his tracks vanished. Lions don’t like to swim, so I was a mite puzzled. There was an island in the middle of the river, and a few big rocks in the water between the banks and it. Not much of an island, though—just a glorified sandbar with a few bushes on it—but I guessed it was possible that a lion could get there by leaping from rock to rock. Why a big cat with an aversion to water would bother, I had no idea.

“But it turned out that was exactly the case. When I moved upriver a bit I could see around the bushes, and sure enough there was a young male lion there, lying right beside the water. It didn’t seem like a terribly comfortable spot, and I wondered at first if he was sick or injured. I watched him for a while, and every now and then he did something strange: He sort of stuck his head down between these two rocks that jutted out of the water, and leaned to one side. Couldn’t figure it out for the life of me.

“Eventually he stops what he’s doing, gets up, and pads over to the rocks. I was upwind, so I knew he hadn’t smelled me yet, and I stayed well hidden. He makes his way back over the river, jumping from rock to rock, but slips on the last one and falls in. Water’s really shallow at that point, so he doesn’t do more than get his belly wet, but I can tell he’s not that happy about it.
Won’t be doing that again soon,
I think, and watch him head off down the bank.

“But I was wrong. I was in the area again a few weeks later, and thought just for a laugh I’d go take a look. There he was! Same lion, same island, doing the same thing. I watched him for a while, then moved on.

“I came back again, of course. The lion wasn’t always there, but often he was. He wasn’t trying to catch fish, if that’s what you’re thinking; he never did anything but that funny business with his head.”

Oscar gestured with his glass. “If this is the prelude to a dreadful pun, I may have to shoot you. Just a friendly warning.”

Karst grinned. “Nothing so predictable, mate. In fact, I couldn’t figure it out at all; it didn’t seem to be a good place for sun or shade, and there certainly wasn’t anything to hunt. Was he waiting for something? I finally had to see for myself.

“So the next time I went there and he wasn’t around, I went out to the island myself. It was a bit tricky; I couldn’t leap the distances a lion could, and in places the water was deep and fast enough to be treacherous. I had to wade from rock to rock and hope I didn’t slip.

“When I got to the island I went straightaway to the lion’s regular spot. I looked around, but other than a few tufts of lion fur there was nothing to distinguish the area from anywhere else. The view was nothing special, just the riverbank opposite. So I did the only thing I could think of: I lay down just like he did, and stuck my head between those two rocks.”

Karst paused. He had our undivided attention, of that there was no doubt.

“And then I realized what was going on. It wasn’t anything the lion was looking at or even smelling that drew him to this spot; it was what he was
hearing
.

“See, the river was gushing through this little channel right there, and something about the acoustics was making this odd sort of noise. It was very regular and fairly loud, a pulsing noise, deeper than what you’d expect. It reminded me of something, but I had to listen to it for a while to figure it out. Any guesses?”

“A heartbeat?” ZZ ventured.

Karst smiled and shook his head. “No. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it was a
purr
.”

“Ah!” said Abazu, clapping his hands together in glee. “Wonderful!”

“That seems highly unlikely,” Zhen said. “How would the lion even discover such an effect?”

Karst turned his smile on her. “But that’s just it, love. How indeed? What could have possibly possessed that lion to set foot upon that island, let alone stick his head between those two rocks, so close to the rushing water? I’ve thought on it many a time, and I still don’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy most people, anyway—though I do have one that satisfies me.”

ZZ knew a cue when she heard one. “And what did you come up with, Mr. Karst?”

“That the
why
of it didn’t matter. In fact, that it happened at all wasn’t that important. What mattered was that it was
possible
.”

[Ah. Well done.]

Karst looked around the table again. He could see from the looks on our faces that we understood: Zhen looked disheartened, Navarro appreciative, Abazu thoughtful, ZZ impressed.

“Potential. That’s the single word I was talking about earlier. People talk about animals in zoos like they’re invalids; they have to be
taken care of,
they have to be
protected
. But that’s not what they are at all; they’re living creatures. They aren’t meant to be locked up and controlled, they’re meant to live in the wild. That’s what the word
wild
means, after all: uncontrolled, unplanned. You’re not going to get that in any enclosure, no matter how fancy or refined. You’re only going to get that someplace natural, someplace like the nature reserve I represent. Where else could you can stumble across a river that purrs in your ear the way your mother used to?”

Karst looked straight at ZZ for a moment, until she nodded. He nodded back, then sat down.

It was brilliantly done, I had to admit. A little short on facts, but I knew Karst had already forwarded the specs of the reserve to ZZ. It was going to be hard for the others to counter that kind of emotional appeal—

“Excuse me, but you are incorrect,” said Abazu softly.

Karst’s smile didn’t diminish in the least. “Oh? You don’t think freedom is important?”

“I do not think what you are offering is freedom,” Abazu said gently. “Your nature reserve is a business, yes?”

“Well, yes—”

“And a business always has needs to be met. Customers to be satisfied. Is this not true?”

“Those needs are secondary to the welfare of the animals,” said Karst. His smile wasn’t quite as large as it had been a moment ago.

“Welfare. An interesting choice of words.”

Now Karst looked confused. “What?”

“It is an American expression, I believe. A generalization, used to describe those who live in poverty. But there will be none of those people present at your reserve’s hotel, of course. Only the wealthy go on safari.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but—”

“Animals are a curiosity to the rich.” Abazu’s tone remained gentle, but there was something beneath it—something that shut Karst up every time Abazu interrupted. An intensity.

“A distraction from their own emptiness,” Abazu continued. “That is why they pay so much money to see them ‘in the wild,’ as it were. To gaze upon them from the safety of a Range Rover, thrilling to something powerful they can never own.

“But whether gazed upon by the masses at a zoo, by drunken throngs at a casino, or by the privileged elite at a secluded resort, there is one thing that is always stolen. Their dignity.”

“That is untrue!” Zhen snapped. “We treat our animals with the highest regard!”

“But they are still ‘your’ animals,” Abazu said. “You own them. They cannot travel beyond your bars or your fences. They cannot have their privacy. They cannot be allowed to simply live; they must earn their keep, by being constantly paraded before greedy cameras and hungry eyes. None of you can deny this.”

“That’s one way to put it,” said ZZ. “What do you suggest as an alternative, Mr. Chukwukadibia?”

“Freedom, Ms. Zoransky. True freedom. To be released into the forest without any preconditions or expectations—
this
is what I want for Augustus. I will make no profit from this; indeed, my organization will incur quite considerable costs. But that is of no consequence. It is, quite simply, the right thing to do.”

Karst let out a bark of incredulous laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding, mate. Turn an animal—one that’s been born and raised in captivity, one that doesn’t even have any peers to emulate—loose in the wild, with no way to monitor it? That’s insane!”

Abazu shook his head. “No. It is natural. Surely you are not suggesting a predator the size of Augustus would be at risk?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting—you think just because he weighs half a ton he’s going to be safe? Tell that to the bloody black rhino—oh, no, wait, you can’t, because it’s almost extinct!”

Abazu shook his head again, stubbornly. “The black rhino is hunted for its horn. There is no such reason for Augustus to become a target.”

“Then what about food?” Karst demanded. “A beast that size needs meat, and a whole lot of it. Augustus has never hunted a day in his life. You think an antelope or zebra is just going to trot up and plop itself down on his dinner plate?”

Abazu had no answer for that—but someone else did.

“He wouldn’t have to hunt,” Luis Navarro said. Everybody turned to look at him—he had said virtually nothing during dinner or after. “He’d do what apex predators have always done. He’d take someone else’s kill away from them.”

Navarro had an easy smile on his face. He seemed genuinely amused at the idea. “Lions do it all the time. Just stroll up to a pack of hyenas and say
mine
. They don’t always get away with it, but often they do. And since this particular liger is twice the size of the average lion, I’m guessing he’d get away with it more often than most. Oh, he might run afoul of something like a really big crocodile, if he wasn’t careful—but still, I’d put my money on the one with four sets of claws plus fangs. I’d pay to see that fight, actually—be a helluva thing, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s in questionable taste, Mr. Navarro,” said ZZ.

“My apologies. We all have Augustus’s continued good health uppermost in our minds, of course. And I didn’t mean to interrupt Mr. Chukwukadibia’s presentation, either—this
is
your presentation, right?”

Abazu wasn’t smiling anymore. “I have brought a great deal more.” He held up a thumb drive. “Detailed information on the habitat where Augustus would be released. Remote, rich in game, with its own population of lions.”

“I’m sure it’s very well thought out,” said Navarro. “Please, go ahead.”

Abazu handed his thumb drive over to ZZ to plug in and began. I wasn’t really listening to him, though, because I finally heard Whiskey and Tango’s voices in my head. They were barely audible, but I could hear them. Mostly.

[… danger … that was not … injuries…]

< … kill … never was … serious, you can’t … >

Whiskey! Tango! What the hell is going on?

It was no good—they were still too far away. I wondered if I could excuse myself and bolt for the door. No, wait—they were slowly getting louder.

[I still say it was irresponsible—]

I tried again.
Tango? Where were you? What happened?

Her? Who was it?

[“It” was another cat.]

Another cat? Was she carrying a bazooka? Why would you care about another cat?

Her reaction confused me; she sounded defensive, nervous, and a little guilty.
Take it easy. I just wanted to know why you left your post.

Oh, boy.

mrow/hss/ack
? That’s what my name sounds like in Liger.>

I really hoped no one at the table was looking at me right then, because I was sure the expression on my face would have convinced them I was having a stroke.

Um. Excuse me?

[Oh, good Lord. She’s in heat.]

[I can smell your ovaries from here. No wonder you took off so quickly.]

Uh, guys? This is not a conversation I want to have at the dinner table. Or, like, ever
.

Ever have a telepathic cat yowl inside your skull? It’s not an experience I can honestly recommend, unless maybe you’re addicted to the tender, soothing pulse of a killer migraine. I tried not to wince, failed, and hoped nobody noticed.

He didn’t say anything about you, Tango, because I don’t speak Liger and therefore wouldn’t understand a word anyway and holy cow, please don’t ever yell like that inside my head again.

No.

[How about a translator who isn’t drowning in her own hormones?]

Guys. Please. Can we get back on track here?

[My apologies. Proceed.]

I hope you can control yourself, Tango, because I’m going to need to talk to Augustus. Just to get a general feeling for how he’s doing, see if he has any concerns about his situation or needs that aren’t getting met. That’s all
.