Ivory to Australia

By Jim Landells

Jason Conway, a Kenyan-born Australian resident of North Western Australia’s Kimberley region, is fanatical about wildlife preservation — particularly that of his native Kenya. When a game conservation idea that has been simmering in his mind for years, finally demands recognition, Jason decides to take action. But unscrupulous ivory traders have different ideas. And, they will stop at nothing, murder and torture included, to get their prize. Only Jason and his small band of volunteers stand in their way...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Landells
• Release date: Apr 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781921968990

Book preview

IVORY TO AUSTRALIA ©

by

Jim Landells

© 2013

This book is dedicated to all those people whose life’s work is devoted to the preservation of wildlife and the environment.

God bless you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jim Landells was born of British parents in Nairobi, Kenya. He completed his education in that country and finalised his tertiary studies by way of being awarded an agricultural diploma from the then Egerton College of Agriculture. Immediately before this period he completed his compulsory military service with the Kenya Regiment. His first adult employment situation was with north Kenya cattle companies. This was during the early1960s when ‘wild’ tribal Africans and indigenous wild life were still common commodities. In those days daily living was never humdrum.

Having migrated to Australia the author spent his first ten years there working in the West Australian Department of Agriculture, more so in the North West Kimberley region where conditions were still very basic. The author’s next life adventure was time spent on the road as an animal health salesperson. Then for the last twenty three years of his working life Jim Landells became a prison officer working in Western Australia’s maximum security prison.

During his working life the author has been in contact with many unusual people and experienced even more unusual situations. This has given his writing an extra dash of reality, which provides an added dimension both to his stories and the characters that roam across the stories’ pages.

ABOUT THIS BOOK

Jason Conway, a Kenyan-born Australian resident of North Western Australia’s Kimberley region, is fanatical about wildlife preservation — particularly that of his native Kenya. When a game conservation idea that has been simmering in his mind for years, finally demands recognition, Jason decides to take action.

But unscrupulous ivory traders have different ideas. And, they will stop at nothing, murder and torture included, to get their prize.

Only Jason and his small band of volunteers stand in their way….

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR JIM LANDELLS & IVORY TO AUSTRALIA

The author displays a considerable understanding of wildlife conservation and of the interaction between humans and animals.

The Australian Book Review

This is an exciting and thought provoking story told through the eyes of a man who now calls Australia home, but still longs to save the African elephants that face extinction in his native born Kenya. Any animal lover and environmentalist will certainly enjoy this tale of one man’s crusade to save the majestic African elephant.

John Morrow’s Pick Of The Week

ETEXT PRESS PUBLISHING

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IVORY TO AUSTRALIA

AN ETEXT PRESS eBOOK

SMASHWORDS EDITION

ISBN: 978-1-921968-99-0

This edition (V1) published by eText Press 2013

Copyright © Jim Landells 2013

Jim Landells has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any and all other applicable international copyright laws to be identified as the sole author of this original work.

This book is a work of fiction and all characters in it are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This eBook (electronic book) is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade, transmission or otherwise, be redistributed, sold or hired, without the publisher’s prior written consent. Further, this eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by the applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

CHAPTER ONE

Jason trotted his grey horse up the ridge doffing his hat when he reached the top thus allowing the cool wind to tickle the sweat pearling his brow. It was quiet. Looking southwards he could see the jumbled Flora Valley hills which concealed Halls Creek. Figuring prominently on West Australian maps, Halls Creek was just a few streets, a pub and a post office; a service station; some weather beaten stores and the district hospital. It seemed this collection of dusty buildings was grouped together merely to shout its defiance at the harshness of the outback.

Jason moved over to the shade of a spindly tree and dismounted. Then, stretching his legs, he considered the view. Eight years up here had not dimmed the profound pleasure he felt in being part of the craggy magnificence that defined the Kimberley’s uniqueness. Some people found the heat terrifying. Jason loved it. With these thoughts in mind he reached into his shirt pocket for the letter that had been delivered to him yesterday, courtesy of a passing truck driver, smoothed the creases and began to read:

"Dear Jason,

I suppose you’ll be surprised to get a letter from an old flame. Yes, it is ten years since we parted and eight since I married Luke, but things have begun to swamp me a bit, and I felt I needed an old friend to talk to. I hope you don’t mind."

A smile puckered his face. It would be hard for him ever to forget the girl whose name appeared at the bottom of this letter.

So. Where do I begin? When I married Luke I suppose. Initially our marriage was a real good one. Luke was loads of fun and I loved him very much. I don’t know when the change began. Maybe it was about four years ago—perhaps even earlier—and I just didn’t notice. Whenever it was it changed fast when I said I wanted a baby. Initially Luke was reluctant, but finally he agreed. I was so happy. Then we discovered that Luke couldn’t father a child. He was devastated. We went to see some doctors, who told us that although Luke could cock and fire his gun the bullets were blanks. So we considered adoption. Luke perked up a bit then, even going back to his old love of flying. He took me for a trip down to Lagana, that place where they’re doing cattle and game ranching combined and for a few days it was pretty good. We watched the elephants and went on camel rides together. We had talks too, with Monty, who you’ll remember from school days. He manages the whole Lagana scheme and he had some pretty horrific things to tell us: mainly about the elephants. It’s common practice for gangs of Somali Shifta bandits to cross the border from Somaliland, move onto Lagana and lay waste the elephants. It’s the ivory they’re after. Ivory sells for a lot of money now and I suppose you can understand the locals wanting to cash in on the bonanza. Monty reckons that by 2000, if the killing doesn’t stop, there’ll be no elephants left.

Jason shifted his position and read on.

After the Lagana interlude we were both pretty relaxed and able to get on with life, so we went back to the Naivasha farm and then hey presto! I became pregnant. Luke was suspicious, and you can understand why. He accused me of having an affair but I figured that we had become so relaxed since coming home, that maybe his potency had benefited. I’ve heard of such things happening and I even found a medical article that supported this view. Luke had a love-hate relationship with me for some time afterwards, but eventually accepted that I was going to have his child. Then one day I was going into the dairy when I fell. I landed flat on my belly which started the baby on its way and I ended up losing the child. I was pretty sick for quite a while. Luke found it hard to relate to me after that because I had fallen pregnant when I wasn’t supposed to and had then lost his child. He was bitter about both things and you can imagine how I felt. After the heat had died down I suggested we try for another but I never did fall pregnant again. Then one afternoon at the club, when Luke had been drinking, that idiot Paul Doolan came up to him and said, half-jokingly, that it was about time Luke got me pregnant. He even insinuated that Luke’s masculinity was deficient. There was a fight then and the other men there had to intervene. The effect on Luke was incredible. He stormed out of the bar, saying that he’d show us what a man he was and that for starters he was going fly his plane round the inside of Longonot: the old volcano. We all thought it was the drink talking but when we saw a light plane taking off from the airfield, we knew that Luke was up to something. Oh, he flew into Longonot Crater all right, but he never made the turns. He flew straight into the cliffs along the south wall and killed himself.

Jason put a tentative finger on the smeared word that might have been caused by a tear drop that had been held in check for too long. He scanned the remaining pages.

So, I suppose you’re thinking to yourself: now why’s this silly bitch writing to me. Can’t she understand that what went on between us, magical though it was, is all over? I can understand you feeling like that, but in my own kind of way I always thought you were a special sort of bloke.

Jason put the letter down and thought about Jane. As a younger man he had loved her deeply. The attraction was still there for it is always difficult to forget the woman who had once been the epitome of his existence. Jane, with her elfin face and her sometimes serious manner and her ready wit, sometimes too sharp for his liking. He also reckoned that her concern for him had always been more than just a passing phase. He looked back at the letter.

I’ve got an unusual job now. I work for a welfare agency that tries to look after hundreds of Africans who have given up working the land and come streaming into Nairobi. Most of them are poor and hungry and need food, shelter, and a bit of support. Our organisation tries its best to cater for them. Of course, there’s never enough money and as the outfit’s manager, I juggle the finances. I live in Karen. I’ve bought this old house, and I’ve got this part-time boyfriend, Tim Johnson. He’s married, but his wife travels a lot and doesn’t give him much tender loving care. I do and I think we’re both the better for it.

The letter rambled on and Jason flipped through it, re-reading the parts that were of special interest. An item caught his eye. Jane was back talking about the wildlife.

"Elephant poaching in this country has got completely out of hand. Although the government is saying how committed it is to stamping out the ivory rackets, it can’t or won’t, do anything about it. If it was only a few Waliangulu bowmen out on the prowl, then it would be okay. This however s is wholesale poaching we’re talking about now, with automatic weapons doing the killing. The latest census done in the Tsavo area has the elephant numbers down to five thousand and in the late sixties that number was forty thousand. Supposedly, a lot of people want to turn wild animals into cash and don’t care if there’s nothing left for public view in twenty years’ time. This must seem a pretty crazy sort of a letter for me to write, and maybe it is, but at the moment I’m in a bit of a low. I just want the pleasure of writing to an old friend who I believe once cared for me very much!!

Yours with love,

Jane.

Jason folded the letter, then gazed into space. Life was quite extraordinary. Here was a woman, who had once cast him aside in favour of somebody else, crying for help. What was she like now? Older of course, but probably just as attractive. Hers was the sort of beauty that was more than just skin deep. Jane had substance, quality and grit all rolled into one, and you didn’t often get all those ingredients in the same package. Now she was asking him for support.

He gathered his horse’s reins and swung into the saddle, heading for home. It was a pleasant ride back to the homestead and after cantering on the downhill stretches he eased up on the steeper gradients. Before he reached the homestead he stopped, contemplating it in detail. Once a place of some account, the old Flora Valley buildings were now deteriorating, for when the original cattle companies had—by government decree—been told to move on, not much had been done to keep the place shipshape. But it was good enough for Jason and his offsider, giving them shelter from the elements. He rode his horse into the railed yard and dismounted. As he did so a voice hailed him from the veranda. See any stock?

A few. Old bulls mainly. One or two mickeys and a lot of scrubber cows. Maybe just enough to muster up some day.

Any of the bulls any good? The man who spoke was short and nuggetty, yet he moved with easy grace. He wore blue jeans, elastic sided riding boots and a faded check shirt. A ‘roll yer own’ cigarette dangled from his lips. Known to all other stockmen as ‘Nugget,’ this was a man whose expertise with horses and bush cattle was remarked on by men many years his senior.

Some of them were. Jason unsaddled and led the horse to a water trough. He washed the sweat from its back.

Enough to bring in the bull catchers then? Nugget asked the question nonchalantly allowing the cigarette to travel from one side of his mouth to the other.

I reckon so. Jason turned his horse out into the nearest paddock. If we got some bull catchers down here, we could knock over a couple of hundred bulls.

Nugget stood with hands on hips, his weight balanced easily on his toes. Well then maybe we’d better do that.

I’ll talk to the boss about it, when I do the radio schedule. Jason, who came from Kenya, had only been associated with North Australia for eight years, but his Diploma in Agriculture gave him the right to have authority over Nugget, the local man. He walked up the veranda stairs and into the house, where dimness, caused by the wide veranda roof overhang, kept the house cool on the hottest Kimberley days. To one end of the house was a small room—maybe in yesteryear a child’s nursery—now converted into a radio cubby. A table in one corner supported a VHF radio transceiver, the broadcasting unit that kept this part of the world in tune with the Flying Doctor Service. Turning the set on and selecting half volume Jason adjusted the signal strength control knob then waited until the Flying Doctor schedule, controlled out of Wyndham, came on the air.

This is VKF Wyndham calling all stations. The radio crackled into life and a clamour of voices from station people several hundred miles apart shouted for the base controller’s attention. Whisky Yankee Mike, Sierra Foxtrot Tango, Uniform Delta X-ray. These were the call signs that were the prelude to messages of hope; anxiety; gaiety and sadness, that were about to be sent to and from the individual homesteads. Isolated the Kimberleys might be, but with the Flying Doctor network on hand there was no room for privacy. Jason listened to the outgoing telegrams until the traffic controller announced: That is all the telegrams I have on hand, before coming in quickly with his own call sign. This is Zulu Bravo Fox. I have a message for Oscar Papa Zulu.

There was a slight pause before another voice from seventy miles away, at the Ord River homestead depot, answered. Oscar Papa standing by. What’s your message Jason? This was Jack Middleton, general manager of the 2,000,000 acre Ord Regeneration Scheme.

Jack. Nugget and I have done several sweeps down here. We reckon there are at least two hundred bulls—running wild—waiting to be caught.

Two hundred, eh? That’s worth twenty grand to us. There’ll be more in the scrub that you didn’t see. All right. I’ll organise a bull catcher to go down there. See you later. Jack was ready to sign off.

Before you go, Jason spoke urgently because Jane’s letter had given impetus to this idea that had been germinating for weeks. I want to see you about something personal.

Is it urgent? Jack sounded perturbed.

No, but it’s important to me.

Middleton thought briefly, Righto. Make it the day after tomorrow. Round about morning smoko time.

I’ll do that. Jason hung up the Transceiver. An outlandish idea was churning through his mind.

Before going to bed that night Jason went for a walk. He often did this when the nights were full moon. There was much tranquillity in looking across a landscape that was so harsh during the day, yet could conjure up such gentleness when bathed with moonlight. He had a lot to think about. He walked down to the bluff, past the homestead to the Turner River, gazing across the pool that supplied their house water. What would city slickers think if they knew that the feral pigs, living in the surrounding bush, shared the same water hole? Across the river was the bare backed- mountain that overshadowed the homestead. Downstream was where the river disappeared into the Turner gorge, a shady stretch of water where Johnston river crocodiles lurked. Jason had never heard of freshwater crocodiles ever attacking men, but it still caused tingles up his spine especially when, on the hottest of hot days, he and Nugget plunged into the river’s coolness.

Jason sat down on the promontory and thought of Jane, her letter and the things it had mentioned. Even though the passage of years had been long, the memories of her were vivid, for Jane was the one woman in his life that he had truly loved. There had been nothing incredibly beautiful about her; she had simply possessed an irresistibly attractive vitality. He thought of the rest of her letter, particularly the part about the decrease of Kenya’s elephants. It would be an absolute tragedy if they were to be exterminated from a country that had once seen thousands of them walking ponderously across its forest and savannah.

As a six year old boy Jason had seen his first elephant. It had been an old bull that had wandered away from the herd, crossing the river that divided white farming territory from game reserve. That had been the elephant’s misfortune; to transgress into country that was no longer available to it. Jason’s father had shot that elephant, thus Jason had seen the animal both in its magnificence of full life as it stood under a thorn tree in the middle of a trampled maize field and as a lifeless carcass, once the rifle bullet had stolen the breath from its body. He had been so appalled at the devastation that he had turned to one side and let tears of sadness splash onto the ground.

That had been the first elephant. After that there had been the other ones; the groups of twos and threes; the herds of one hundred and the solitary males walking by themselves. In his teenage years and young adulthood, Jason had known that if the elephants of Africa were ever completely destroyed, then God himself would be excused for turning his back on mankind forever. Yet it looked as if this was indeed happening. Jane had said so in her letter. The African calamity was about to happen.

Jason looked across the Turner River, reminding himself that the similarity between this part of Australia and bush Africa was quite extraordinary. Here, you got the Boabs that in Africa they called Baobabs. Here you got the Pandanus palms that were similar to the African Borassus. You also got the same turgid rivers with crocodiles basking on the sandbars. But in this country one thing was missing. There were no elephants. Why? For that matter, why were there no Eland, or Oryx, or Gerenuk or Buffalo, all the types of African animals that would complement this part of Australia. There were native dingoes, kangaroos and wallabies but nothing large. Nothing that could excite the mind like the American Bison, or the African elephant, could. Did it have to be this way? Maybe not. Then in the back of his mind, the idea that he had entertained for so long began to grow, along with his excitement. Why not introduce wild elephants from Kenya to Australia? Impossible? At first sight maybe, and yet... All things could be done. In 1492 Columbus had thought so, anyway. So, for Jason the question was: was he going to initiate his idea, or sit on his backside and let other people get in before him? He got up, stretched his legs and knew that if he ever voiced this idea, of introducing elephants, to local Kimberley residents it would be angrily dismissed. On the other hand he knew also that there was one man he could speak to with confidentiality. That man was Jack Middleton.

The new Ord River station homestead basked in the afternoon sun, content in the knowledge that its modern buildings had been put there by a Western Australian government that was trying to atone for the guilt of generations of past cattlemen, whose abuse could be seen everywhere. Sheet erosion and ugly gullies showed what happened when too many cattle grazed, unchecked, across range country that needed proper maintenance. Jack Middleton sat on the main house veranda, a booted foot draped across one knee a pannikin of black tea in his hand. He had forsaken the academic rewards of a university education in preference to the greater joy, for him, of managing a north Australian regeneration project, something he did very well. Now he was listening to what his technician from Flora Valley, Jason Conway, had to say.

It’s like I was saying the other day, Jason was nursing his own pannikin of tea. I reckon we have about 200 catchable bulls running loose at Flora valley.

I see. All ready for the taking eh? Well, I’ve got a bull catcher lined up for you. He’s coming down to Flora at the end of this week. Is everything ready for him?

Yes.

Glad to hear it. 200 bulls eh. That’s worth about 20,000 dollars to us. Jack pondered. Well, that should keep head office off our backs for a while. Middleton took another drink of tea while looking shrewdly at his technician. "But that isn’t really what you came up to see me about today is it?"

No.

So what gives? Middleton looked speculatively at his subordinate.

Jason got up and walked the length of the veranda. He put his hands squarely on the chair back and said: Jack, what’s going to happen to the regeneration project eventually?

Don’t rightly know, old Son. Of course, lots of things have been suggested. Jack leaned back in his chair. "Once we’ve finished putting this place back into good shape, the department might want to turn it into a research station. We could go into breeding Brahman and Santa Gertrudis cattle. I’ve also been told the Aboriginals would like to take it over."

You’ve got be kidding. Jason was aghast.

It’s on the cards. Some of the powers that be also think this place would make a good National Park, an area where people could visit to get away from problems in the city.

That sounds more like it. Jason’s interest was aroused.

What’s it to you anyway? Middleton was definitely curious.

Jason’s words came out with a rush: Jack I would like to turn this place into an elephant park.

Jack Middleton was positively startled. "An elephant park! But why here?"

Because up here it’s very like bush Africa. Jason’s voice was brassy with expression. The land. The ranges. The vegetation. The rivers and the black soil plains, so many things are similar.

I can believe that. Jack was still slightly bemused. "But why elephants?"

Because African elephants, Jason’s voice became most deliberate. Are in grave danger of extinction. I’ve just had a letter from a girl explaining this.

I’ve heard you come out with some novel ideas before, but this is the weirdest. Middleton’s tone was questioning, but his voice was kindly. "Maybe you’d better tell me more, a whole lot more." He settled back in his chair.

Now that he had centre stage, Jason felt curiously reluctant to explain. Then he looked out at the emptiness of the Ord River station plains and the cragginess of the undulating ranges. He knew that if elephants were ever going to be established outside of Africa, then this would be the place to do it. He turned to Middleton. You know, the first time I came up here and saw all this, he waved his hand at the expanse outside, I thought to myself: this is the place where elephants would be happy. They would feel safe here. Nobody would persecute them in the Kimberleys. When I was a boy there were many elephants in the area that I lived in but now that’s changed. Ivory commands such a high price these days that elephants are constantly being killed, moreover the authorities that should put a stop to this killing either won’t, or can’t do it. This means that in the not too distant future, Africa elephants will cease to exist, causing another body blow to the cause of conservation. I would hate to see elephants go the same way as the North American bison.

Middleton said: Sounds like you’ve had this idea in mind quite a while. So what are you going to do about it?

I would like to save the elephants by turning part of the Old Ord River station into an elephant sanctuary, Jason said grandly, even if it meant bringing only ten elephants across initially.

Jack said admiringly. You’re really keen aren’t you? Jason I don’t really know what they aim to do with this two million acres once we’ve got it into shape again. If you want to know, you’ll have to call on our Rangeland Management boss man in Perth about the matter. When’s your next lot of leave?

Three months’ time.

"I thought so. Maybe you ought to see the boss first and then go to Africa and check out the situation. Once you’ve decided how things lie there, come back and plan accordingly. If you think it was all a pipe dream that’s okay, but if you really reckon you can do something positive, that’s the time to get organised. And you’ll need a sponsor. Have you thought about that?"

Not really. Although he was used to Jack Middleton letting his ideas carry him along, it was hard to adjust to the manner in which Jason’s boss was thrusting out new thoughts. Then an exciting idea came to mind. Yes by God! He might have a sponsor after all! Well…maybe, Jason spoke uncertainly, Yes…maybe there is somebody I could get as sponsor.

Who is it? Jack was curious.

I’m going to keep that to myself for a while.

Middleton shrugged, then smiled. Okay, and while you’re over in Africa get hold of that girl—the one who wrote you the letter—and bring her back with you.

Righto. I’ll do that. Jason finished his tea.

CHAPTER TWO

From the sky Jason was able to inspect the harsh world below. It was a tough land this Kimberley, with no room for weaklings. Yet he knew that while he was away, he was going to miss the country’s ruggedness. Right now, he was on holiday, flying south in one of the F28 jet aircraft that kept communications open between south west and north west Australia. He was on his way to spend a few days in Perth before going on to Africa, where he was going to see Jane and check out the elephants for himself.

Can I get you a drink? The steward patrolling the passenger aisle was a young fellow with dark hair that suggested Italian ancestry. He was still young enough to be excited about his work and the job prospects offering. He probably still had ambition.

Yes thanks, I’ll have a beer. Jason stopped dreaming about elephants and tried to concentrate on things of the immediate moment. When the beer was served to him, its tang was pleasant. He dozed for the rest of the trip only waking up when the aeroplane began descending into Perth. Even after a year’s absence, he reckoned that the glow of the city’s after dark lights had become that much brighter. When the plane landed Jason was ushered through the airport reception area and out into the roadway beyond, where he hailed a taxi. He then settled in for the drive to town. Kimberley flights always arrived in Perth after dark giving the new arrival a satisfying view of what the city’s nightlife had to offer. Jason checked in at a small hotel just off St. Georges Terrace. He had been there before and liked its easy going atmosphere. It was cheap too. He read a few pages of a novel then switched off the light and went to sleep.

He awoke to a typical Perth early summer day, with a bright sun that had sparkle and bite to it, with the possibility of a cool change later on. He showered, had a quick shave, then went down to the dining room where he acknowledged his fellow guests, before attacking a bowl of fresh fruit, followed by cereal, toast and coffee. Although the day was brightly cheerful, his mood was uncertain because today he was going to meet Rupert Hazard.

Rupert Hazard. Now there was a name that had powerful connotations. Rupert Hazard was a high flier who had nothing in common with Jason, except that they both came from Africa. Not many citizens knew a great deal about Rupert Hazard, who was new on the Perth tycoon scene. He was relatively young—only fifty—but he had a big house in Dalkeith, a yacht in Fremantle, drove a Mercedes Benz car and kept Rottweiler dogs. His wife was hardworking and glamorous and active in the world of West Australian horse racing. Rupert Hazard was six feet tall and slim. He had interests in Australian mining and owned a lot of inner city property. He had just begun buying up some of the more remote, run-down outback cattle stations. Rupert Hazard was a man on the move, somebody whose coat tails it would be good to ride on. Jason drank more coffee while glancing at the letter he had spread out on the table. Although two months old, the letter—when he had first received it—had sent triumphant vibes floating through his body. For it meant that Rupert Hazard was prepared to meet him. Jason read the section that was all important.

I am in receipt of your letter of the 24th. While I am still unsure of what it is you’re asking of me, I would suggest that the next time you are in Perth you come by my office. I leave it to you to make an appointment with my secretary.

Cordially yours,

Rupert Hazard.

His breakfast finished, Jason walked outside into a pleasantly warm day. No doubt about it; early summer was the best time to be in Perth. Currently the heat was not yet strong enough to make a man think of cold refrigerators and iced drinks. He walked quickly down St. Georges Terrace, recalling what the Perth skyline had been like on his arrival in Western Australia—in 1975—eight years ago. He had been a bit hillbilly and idealistic then, 25 years old and generally too intense. But he had changed and was now happy enough to be the senior technician on the old Ord river station, where pioneering techniques in land regeneration were being implemented.

Two-thirds of the way along the terrace he came to the address he was seeking. The house, on the riverside of the street, was fairly nondescript hardly looking like the nerve centre of Hazard Enterprises. Jason paused before entering. It was dark inside. As he went through he stopped again to let his eyes accustom themselves to the subdued lighting. This building—fashionable at the turn of the century—would have been the sort of place where doctors and other medical men would have consulted. Although old, for Perth, the building had been tastefully refurbished.

Can I help you? The voice that came floating across the room was as direct as the decor was muted. Jason turned to view the speaker. The voice belonged to a woman who was one of the most attractive he had ever seen and, if she had not been severely dressed, she could have been sexually provoking. Perhaps this was what she was trying to hide. She carried herself well and had learned the art of wearing clothes that looked good on her, no matter what cut or quality they possessed.

I’m Jenny Blaize. I’m Mr Hazard’s personal assistant. She waited for Jason to respond.

I’m Jason Conway. I have a nine thirty appointment with Mr Hazard.

Yes, he’s expecting you. Follow me please. Her voice was like a forest pool when shafts of sunlight dance across its emerald surface. She moved across the carpeted foyer and Jason followed her down a short corridor until they reached a polished jarrah wood door. Jenny knocked lightly, then pushed the door open and entered a room that was quite obviously the boss’s. There was power in here. Jason could feel this power being absorbed by the timbered office walls and reflected from the white ceiling. There was also power emanating from the other side of the solid jarrah table from the man sitting behind it.

Mr Hazard. This is Jason Conway. He has an appointment with you.

Thank you Jenny. Rupert Hazard stood up and came round from behind the desk, extending a hand that was fine boned and square tipped. When Jason shook it he was slightly disappointed at the mildness contained in its tapering fingers, because a hand that belonged to a powerful man like this one should ooze strength.

Rupert Hazard’s voice was friendly. Would you like some coffee?

Yes, that would be nice.

Jenny would you please get us some. Rupert Hazard looked to his assistant.

Of course. Jenny’s warm smile radiated the sort of intimacy that would send most men wild. She drifted from the room.

Come this way. Rupert Hazard gestured towards a bay window that contained, within its alcove, a small table and four chairs.

When Jason reached the alcove, he sat down, scrutinising Hazard closely. He knew that the man came from Africa, from the country once known as Southern Rhodesia. He also knew that Hazard had migrated to Perth, whether rich or penniless he didn’t know. What he did know, was that Hazard was now one of the financially powerful men of inner city Perth. When people spoke of Allan Bond, Dallas Dempster, Lang Hancock and Warren Anderson they now also included Rupert Hazard in their general conversation. Rupert Hazard was just above medium height whose wiry build projected a powerful personality. The man’s eyes, light grey, shone out from a face that must have experienced all the emotions a powerful man can have. He sat down gracefully in his chair.

Hazard looked at Jason quizzically. I got your letter and I was intrigued by what you had to say. Something to do with elephants wasn’t it?

Yes.

So, what about them? Hazard sat back in his chair, giving Jason his full attention.

I think it would be a tragedy if they were exterminated

So do I. Rupert Hazard nodded.

So to prevent that sort of thing happening, I think we ought to breed them here.

An interesting thought. Hazard sounded contemplative. Where do you think they could be bred?

Right here in Western Australia. Jason sat forward, his excitement building.

Whereabouts in Western Australia?

In the north. Maybe on one of your cattle stations. Jason had often wondered how he was going to broach this subject to Rupert Hazard and was gratified at how easy it had been.

Rupert Hazard spoke softly. I think you had better elaborate more on what you have in that mind of yours.

Of course. Jason was about to explain himself, when Jenny Blaize came in with a coffee tray. She put the tray on the table and smiled. How do you like your coffee, Jason?

White, please and no sugar. He watched her pour and waited until his coffee was handed to him. As three cups of coffee had been prepared Jenny was apparently going to participate in the conversation. Jason switched his attention back to Rupert Hazard. I think elephants would do well in Australia, because the north of this country is so similar to certain parts of Africa. For example, the Kimberley Boab trees and the African Baobabs are identical. The Kimberley grasses are similar to bush Africa’s. Also there doesn’t seem to be much difference in the soil types of either place. I think The Kimberleys would make ideal elephant country.

Rupert Hazard sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "What would you expect of me in this whole adventure?"

Jason said carefully. Perhaps you could provide the monetary backing that would be necessary.

Why should I do that? Hazard’s eyes were hooded.

Because, and Jason steeled himself to say it: Financially this country has been good to you. Perhaps you owe it something in return. Secondly you came from Africa, so maybe you owe it to that country to conserve its endangered species. Apart from anything, you would be doing mankind a service by preserving an animal that is in danger of being exterminated.

Rupert Hazard put his coffee cup down and looked at Jenny. The man isn’t backward in coming forward, is he? Although he wasn’t hostile he voiced his words strongly: "Jason what sort of financial backing are you after anyway?"

It takes a lot of money to catch elephants and send them to Australia. Then, of course, there would be the cost of getting them established here. None of this would be cheap.

From the way you’re talking, Hazard said, it would be damned expensive.

Think of the rewards, though! Jason spoke hurriedly. Besides saving an endangered species, you will be creating a tourist industry. People will come a long way to go on safari in Australia to see elephants. Of course you can farm them too. In South Africa and Zimbabwe, they cull the excess elephants in the game parks, turning them into elephant beef. Think of the novelty that would mean. He smiled. Many people might be quite eager to try a bowl of elephant’s trunk soup.

Got it all figured out, haven’t you? But Hazard’s voice was still kind. "You really think that, in the long run, I’m going to make money out of it? Don’t forget that I’m a businessman not a philanthropist."

Naturally, it will be a long term thing. Of course like any worthwhile cause there will be problems. But in the long term, I think you would benefit financially.

Rupert Hazard poured himself some more coffee. "If I underwrite your proposal what major problems can you foresee?" He was sounding interested.

Quarantine would be the big issue. Getting livestock into Australia from Africa is always a risky business—because of animal disease—but there’s a quarantine station in the Cocos Islands. You could always bring in elephants in that way.

Hazard asked. How long would the elephants have to stay there?

I’m not sure. I’ll have to find out.

I expect it would be a long time. Hazard’s tone was still friendly but harder than before.

Jason needed an ally. He glanced at Jenny. What do you think? Would you be game to tackle an idea like the one I’ve just proposed?

She pondered, before saying finally. It’s an idea that’s so fantastic that it sounds quite unreal to me. Have you considered the logistics involved?

Now Jason realised that Jenny was not merely Rupert Hazard’s coffee girl. She was his personal assistant. He said. Only in general terms.

Perhaps then, you should have given the details more thought before you came here. There was mild rebuke in her manner.

Jason tried another tack: Don’t you think the greening of the world, the general concern for conservation and the preservation of a species are worthwhile projects.

She avoided the trap. What does that have to do with importing elephants into the Kimberleys?

He was on his mettle now. "A great deal. I mean, it’s all to do with conservation isn’t it? Surely that is what the Greenies are concerned with."

Unfortunately, Jenny said matter-of-factly, most conservation is tied up with economics. You’ve come in here all fired up about your noble crusade to save the elephants. For that I applaud you. But you haven’t really told us how it will benefit—in economic terms—you, me, Mr Hazard and the people of Western Australia.

Jason walked over to the river window. Away from the sun’s glare, he could see the parkland’s green lawns spilling down to the Swan River which, because of the sun’s caress, looked almost blue. How he could make Jenny appreciate what he was saying. Then he realised that, unless you were actually brought up in Africa and knew its wildlife, you could not understand the emotive issues that were at stake. He was beginning to think that this Rupert Hazard had been out of Africa too long and that, maybe, he had lost the emotion that overtook the soul, when earth; trees; rocks; sand; space; and elephants, all gelled together to spell out that one beautiful word; ‘environment’. He looked at the other two who were regarding him quizzically, wondering if he would ever be able to relate to them. Could he persuade them to share his enthusiasm for the elephant dream? Then he spoke again, this time more quietly:

"You’re right. Perhaps I haven’t given the overall picture as much thought as I should have done. But I really would like your help with my elephant dream. You see, without them the world will be a poorer place. If you eliminate the elephants then other things in the environmental chain will disappear until eventually no animals will remain anywhere. That will be an enormous pity because a world devoid of wildlife will be an awfully dull place. I feel that my idea has