Rhino

By Burton Horwitz

When his parents pass away, the young and handsome Jason De Vildman is placed in charge of a vast South African game reserve. Poachers are killing the Rhino and selling the horn for millions of dollars on the black market. Jason catches some of the poachers and in retribution, Ahmed, his mentor and friend is deliberately killed. Jason goes to the village of the Sagatti tribe to arrest the tribal chief and gets into a knife fight where, “he meets himself at the tip of his blade,” and spares the chief’s life in exchange for the information he needs to wage war on the smugglers.

Jason knows he must take the battle to the cartel that is responsible for the poaching and smuggling of the horn. He stows away aboard the smuggling ship that is bound for the orient. He is discovered and beaten until he fabricates a story that saves him from being thrown overboard. The captain of the ship Wolf Hochstetter is suspicious but assigns the dirtiest jobs on the ship to his stowaway. In a tropical cyclone that nearly destroys the ship; Jason saves the captain’s life and becomes a trusted member of the crew affording him the opportunity to meet the lone mysterious woman aboard the freighter. She leads him to those who are ultimately responsible for the killing of the rhino: The maniacal head of the Hong Kong Triad, the world famous gem dealer and others.

On a flight aboard the Concord supersonic jetliner, Count De Grunwald meets Michelle Trudeau. Beautiful, limpid green eyes, flawless face, auburn hair and vision of slender perfection. They begin a relationship that leads her to terrible danger in the Orient.

The story goes on across the world and raging seas!

Character list

Jason De Vildman - Central character, game warden
Ahmed - Friend a family retainer
Bamatu - Chief of the Sagatti tribe
Uuka - Son of the chief and poacher
Billy Botha - Tracker, hunter and friend
Bryce Pittston - Army office working with Jason
Count Dimitrie de Grunwald -Rich, handsome, worldly ring leader
Michelle Loraine Trudeau - Beautiful tabloid reporter
Christian Marquand - World famous gem merchant
Wolf Hochstetter - Captain of the Castle of Orion
Bull Meecham - First mate of the Orion
Countess Maria Fedorovna - Gem courier and mysterious lady aboard Orion
Tend Si Peng – Maniacal leader of the Hong Kong Triad
Kwan Loon - The Count’s right hand man
Beekman - Durban Harbor policeman
Chief Commissioner Willig-Trusted friend of Jason . . . or is he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Burton Horwitz
• Release date: Jan 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458033710

Burton Horwitz

Burton is interested in the plight of earth’s endangered species and the environment, “I thought the best way to point out the problem was to write an entertaining action adventure novel on the subject in hopes that people will enjoy the story and get the message. It’s hard to believe that someone in the Orient is willing to pay almost any amount to get a few slivers of rhinoceros horn. The devastation of the rhinoceros is a glaring example of what is happening in Africa and throughout the world.

Book preview

RHINO

By Burton Horwitz

Copyright 2011 by Burton Horwitz

Smashwords Edition

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Chapters

1. The Meeting

2. Trust and Torment

3. Dancing With the Snake

4. Of Love and Lies

5. A Helping Hand

6. Fighting Back

7. Encountering Orion

8. Moments of Doubt

9. Wind, Waves and Sea

10. Tigers Tail

11. Easy to Destiny

12. Fragrant Harbor

13. Invitation to Dinner

14. Fears Realized

15. Walls of Darkness

16. Escape to Destiny

CHAPTER 1: MEETINGS

It was late afternoon before the five men found the quarry they had been seeking. As they cautiously approached from behind a line of veldt bushes the rhino cow and her young calf peacefully grazed in the scrubby grasses of the Natal National Game Reserve.

The clothing and weapons of the native South Africans were remnants of war; faded bits of uniforms and automatic military rifles that were pathetically inadequate to kill such a large beast. A properly equipped big game hunter of times past, when hunting rhino was legal, would have used a high powered Rigby or Winchester rifle and would have brought the animal down from a distance with one carefully placed shot. The poachers carried old Chinese AK 47s and knew that killing the rhino would take all of them firing at close range.

While searching the cow’s thick hide for fat ticks, several Yellow Billed Oxpecker birds danced across her back and shrieked a loud warning of impending danger. The cow, nearly blind as are all rhino, heard the warning and sensed the stalking danger while the frail calf took shelter under its mother's belly. The cow raised her head, nostrils flared in the direction of the poachers scent. Her head was lowered as she exhaled a loud warning snort of hot breath that hit the dry ground and blew plumes of dust into the air. Her front foot stamped heavily as she snorted again and prepared to charge.

Nearly trampling her calf, she charged in the direction of the stalking men. The calf trailed fifty yards behind, trying desperately to catch up with its raging defender. The great beast crashed through the bush at nearly thirty miles per hour as the poachers raised their rifles and began to fire. Bright flashes of burning gunpowder issued from their weapons as the deafening clatter echoed through the countryside.

She went straight at the closest man, a coward, who dropped his weapon and ran. Several dozen bullets had hit the cow by the time she neared him but just before he would have been gutted by the three foot horn or trampled to death, a bullet impacted just behind the animal's eye, crashed through her skull and penetrated the small brain. Two more steps and the dazed cow's knees buckled as the momentum of her charge carried her several feet further until she tumbled heavily to the dusty ground. The calf ran toward its bloodied mother, backed away and then butted its head several times against the dead cow's body. The poachers boldly walked toward the carcass and shouted loudly as they kicked the little calf and waved their arms to force it away.

The calf stood a few yards distance and watched one of the men use a large knife to cut around the flesh of the greater and lesser horns. In a few minutes they had severed them from the head, wrapped them in a blanket and both were stuffed into a knapsack.

Muttering a prayer of thanks, the poacher who had just escaped a gruesome death sat on the ground and breathed heavily. His face was pressed deeply against his drawn up knees. The tall, young man who was the leader of the group looked at the waning sun that lay close to the horizon. It would be dark soon, he thought, and time to leave. He threw the blood stained knapsack over his shoulder and followed by his companions, walked quickly into the dusk. All knew they had to be away from the grisly scene before they were discovered and captured by the game reserve’s wardens.

Standing alone near the carcass of its mother, the orphaned calf repeatedly cried helpless sounds. Nearby a hyena pack cackled as they smelled blood on the wind. The ravenous pack drew ever closer to the infant creature as night closed in.

Bamatu, Chief of the Sagatti tribe, had been first to leave the tribal meeting. He wore a loose robe of traditional cloth as he walked past the low stone and thatch huts of the village. The men who spilled into the night after him were young and old, some wearing tattered western style clothing, others in traditional dress. The sun had long set, and a pale moon hung low in the dark sky.

The leader of the poachers, a tall young man dressed in tattered military khaki approached. In a frail voice Bamatu greeted his only son, Uuka, and with a gesture of his hand waved him into his stone house. The gaunt old man lit a kerosene lamp, waited for the flame to illuminate his dwelling and spoke. In our language the name I gave you at birth means to arise to greatness and at my insistence; you have been chosen to be the next chief by the elders of the tribe. I must insure the meaning of your name becomes a prophesy for the people. We have much to do together to be sure you are ready. In the short time I have left to me, I must pass to you the wisdom and tolerance of a chief.

Uuka dropped onto a mat and closed his eyes. His voice was low and with a much respect as he was capable of, arrogantly said, It must wait; I have many things that I must do before I can concern myself with the wisdom you say I need.

Bamatu raised his frail voice, Wait! When you become chief, the needs of the tribe cannot wait. I have but little time to teach you what you must know!

I have responsibilities apart from this tribe, my father.

What responsibilities? I see you come and go with your armed henchman. Do you think you belong to them?

Uuka responded angrily, Do you think this place is the whole world? What can our people do but raise chickens and scrape the ground to grow a crop of withered vegetables? There are no jobs for us, no wealth for us. There is nothing here for me and nothing here will ever change!

The Chief did not reply for he knew there was truth in his son's words. In days past he had been a warrior and throughout his life he had never feared another living man, now, at the end of his days he was filled with fear of what the future would bring to his people.

Once, the Sagatti tribe had lived in harmony with the South African veldt. Sadly, everything was different now. Bamatu hated what had happened to his land and his people who had lost the old values and their identity as a tribe. There was no honor in what many of them did to survive; those that hunted for the money they made poaching rhino earned more than they could ever dream of attaining legally. No matter how vile the reality of ravaging a species to extinction, the reward was too powerful. Many of the young men could not resist, and poaching had become too much of a temptation for the tribal Elders to stop.

Families were torn apart when the men were caught for the crime of poaching. The violators who were not killed by the Warden's rifles were sent to the most miserable place on earth: Kamto Detention Center, where they were imprisoned for years. Most who had been captured would never return to their homes. Yet many young men became poachers no matter what the risk or what it would mean in suffering to their families and the tribe.

Bamatu wanted the evil business to end. He saw the danger it represented to his tribe and his beloved land. In a time gone by, he would have fought against these destructive changes. Now his ancient bones were feeling the years, and he was too weary to undertake the challenge. Now he wanted only to live his final days in peace and leave the burden of ruling the tribe to his only son.

Uuka stood and said, I must go now, my father, to take up my burden. I leave you with yours. He bowed slightly and walked into the night.

Three thousand miles to the east, the long even swell of the South China Sea lapped against the worn planks of an old creaking Junk that gently rolled in the light midnight breeze. The Captain, stocky and weather beaten, stood on the raised deck barking orders to the crew below as they adjusted and worked the massive sails in a quest to make headway. The Junk's ancient engine would not start and unless the wind picked up the captain feared they would not reach their rendezvous. Far worse and of greater concern, they had drifted into the territorial waters of North Vietnam.

One of the sailors shouted and pointed over the rail and out to sea. Almost a mile away, illuminated by the moon, a North Vietnamese Navy Frigate was closing fast. Built in the old Soviet Union, the powerful ship was propelled by diesel engines and gas turbines that made it capable of thirty knot speed. The remarkably fast Frigate was over two-hundred feet long and bristling with a sophisticated array of rocket launchers, large caliber machine guns and two radar controlled cannon turrets. With the Frigate’s formidable weapons, the pursuit they were engaged in was akin to a lion on the hunt for a mouse.

The captain of the Junk quickly realized the Frigate intended to board and inspect his boat and commanded the crew to lower the tattered sails. The Vietnamese ship laid along side the Junk and a monkey ladder was dropped over the side. Several heavily armed men clambered down the ladder and onto the deck. The captain approached the leader of the boarding party, bowed and with trepidation handed the boats registration documents to him for inspection. After a cursory look, the leader and the boarding party moved below and began to carefully inspect the contents of the hold in hopes of finding a cargo of drugs when the leader of the expedition saw a suspicious unmarked crate. He pried off the top and illuminated the contents with a powerful flashlight. A strong smell of rotting flesh assailed his nostrils and to his amazement, he saw a jumble of the animal bones and a large number of curved horns. Repulsed by the horrific smell and with his quest being directed toward finding neatly wrapped bricks of heroin, he walked away and continued to search the confines of the cargo hold. Finding nothing of interest or value, the inspection was soon completed and the search party climbed up the ladder as the Frigate proceeded to pull away at high speed. At a quarter-mile distance, the ship reduced speed and turned to flank the fragile Junk.

The captain of the Junk had breathed a sigh of relief as the Frigate moved away but now an expression of horror washed across his leathery face. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he saw the forward turret rotate in his direction. There was a burst of cannon fire and the ocean exploded fifty yards ahead of the smuggler's craft. The Vietnamese gunner carefully adjusted the range, squeezed the trigger, and deliberately walked the rounds nearer and nearer to the Junk. As the string of rounds came closer, a great geyser of water soaked the smuggler's decks. The crew gazed helplessly toward the oncoming death and froze in place. A close hit exploded above the mast and fifteen feet of mast and rigging crushed several men below. Another round hit the bow and blew huge chunks of wood high into the air. The angry captain knew his fate and shook his fist in the direction of the pursuers when in that instant the Junk took several direct hits that broke the back of the boat. In seconds, the wreckage disintegrated and sank beneath the sea.

The Frigate’s helmsman steered a course away from the smoldering wreckage as the Vietnamese Commander shouted praise to his gunner and joked at the ease with which his deck gun had destroyed the defenseless vessel. He said to the leader of the boarding party who had come onto the bridge, So, you found nothing of interest on board that old boat? The leader replied sheepishly as he had time to consider the strange crate and its even stranger contents. The only thing I found was an evil smelling crate of bones and curved brown horns. No drugs or anything else of value. Though sir... I can not help but wonder why they would have such a cargo.

The Commander stiffened and angrily asked, These horns were curved with a broad base tapering to a point, how long were they?

The leader saw the anger painted across his superior’s face and meekly said, Two or three feet, I did not pick one up, they were covered with blood and pieces of rotting flesh but they looked very heavy. From what type of animal I can not say.

Think carefully, could they have been the horns of the rhinoceros? Certainly you have seen a picture of a rhinoceros.

The hold was dark, the smell was intolerable, and I did not linger long over that crate. Possibly it was the horn of rhino, I am not sure.

You fool, if they were rhinoceros horns we have just sunk a load more valuable than any cargo of drugs, but we will never know, will we. The Commander turned and told others on the bridge to summon an armed guard to escort the boarding party leader below. Consider yourself under arrest; your mistake will be reported and you will face our superiors when we return to port.

For the remainder of the night, the fearsome Frigate would continue to search for other hapless transgressors who had ventured into North Vietnam's territorial waters. The Commander, believing the crew of the Junk deserved their fate did not return to search for survivors. He knew those who may have survived the explosion were now facing the death sentence of ever present sharks and he thought . . . rightfully so, by morning all will have perished into the inky black depths of the South China Sea.

Fifteen thousand miles to the west the piercing February cold brought wet snow to the city of New York. A black limousine pulled to the curb in front of New York's most prestigious jeweler, the House of Marquand, where the chauffeur walked briskly around the car to open the door for its occupant. Count Dimitrie De Grunwald carried himself with the air of European aristocracy to which he had been born. His intense steel blue eyes and handsome face were framed by a head of thick silver white hair. He wore a perfectly tailored blue suit, dark blue cashmere overcoat and a white cashmere scarf tucked neatly under his lapels.

The Count cringed at the thought of soaking his shoes and as he exited the limousine he was careful not to step in the curbside slush that had accumulated overnight or slip on the patches of ice that dotted the sidewalk. His face revealed annoyance as he carefully calculated each step toward the door. The Count had always hated the dreary New York winter weather and it had intensified his naturally aloof manner.

He approached the building's entrance where a uniformed guard opened the bronze door and then ushered him into the warm interior reception area. He cast his gaze in another direction and without personally acknowledging her; spoke to the receptionist who was seated in the lobby behind a large oak desk. Tell Mister Marquand that Count De Grunwald is here.

The receptionist smiled and said, You are expected, sir, one moment and I will announce you. Please go into our showroom where Mister Marquand will meet you.

He walked past the receptionist to the nearest showcase and scanned the array of set diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. Expensive and pretty baubles, he thought, but nothing of interest to him. Although the finest quality available and extraordinarily expensive, he was not there to buy, he had another more important mission.

A salesman began to walk over to help the Count and caught the approach of the owner from the corner of his eye. As Christian Marquand waved him away, the salesman turned and scurried off in the opposite direction.

Mustached, bald, short, and overfed, the last in the line of the House of Marquand approached his honored guest. He greeted the Count with outstretched hand and a warm smile. There was no trace of his Russian Oriental ancestry as he spoke in a broad, American accent.

Dimitrie, so good to see you; I hope you had a pleasant journey.

The Count shrugged his shoulders and looked at Marquand impatiently. This winter weather speaks for my disposition, I hate having to fight my way through the slush to see you. Frankly I do not know how you New Yorkers endure it.

The Count was being sarcastic, knowing full well that Christian Marquand had mingled with the elite of the greatest cities of the world. He was no more a New Yorker than he as both had luxurious homes outside the boundaries of the United States.

I hope you're not in one of your famous unpleasant moods, Dimitrie, I want you to enjoy your visit, and I have a good lunch waiting.

The Count smiled and seemed pleased for the moment, I am hungry, maybe some food will help take the chill out of my bones. I may despise this city, but I have always appreciated its cuisine, and I have always said that you serve a good table.

Marquand reached up and put his arm around the Count's shoulder. Then come, my friend, we will eat and drink and tell each other about our wealth and all the beautiful women we have known.

They walked up the plush emerald green carpeted stairway to the second floor that was divided into oak lined private showrooms, administrative offices, cutting rooms and Marquand's private quarters and lavish dining room. This exclusive area was restricted to extremely wealthy clients and long time associates. The real fire was here, bulk gemstones graded by class, color, clarity, and cut. Row upon row of these fine gems were laid out on velvet trays that were securely locked in the old vaults.

It was rumored that the House of Marquand had rare and priceless treasures that the family had been accumulating for over a century. Some treasures were bought from private auctions; some of the collection was spoils from the ravages of war. It was said to include solid gold plates taken from the Czar's table and smuggled out of Russia during the Revolution; magnificent statues and old master paintings, and many more prizes bought during times of world strife. Used as collateral for large purchases of stock gems for the House of Marquand, these precious items were infrequently seen by anyone outside the family.

Marquand's dining room was large and expensively appointed with rare antiques and lavish old furniture. An exquisite hand inlaid table was set with fine china, silver, and crystal. A sideboard was laid out with plump black Caviar and triangles of toast, a large bowl of fresh garden salad, a porcelain tureen of steamy soup, pan fried brook trout garnished with steamed baby vegetables, fresh fruits, aged cheeses and a variety of rich deserts.

Marquand dismissed the hovering white gloved waiters with a wave of his hand. You can leave us, now, I will serve my guest. He turned to the Count, Let's eat, my friend you must be famished after your long journey. Marquand walked to the sideboard and scooped a generous portion of Beluga caviar onto the Count's plate, a few toast points and one wedge of lemon; then placed it in front of his guest. He helped himself to heaping portions of everything, seated himself and reaching across the table, poured the wine and waited for the Count to pick up his fork and begin the meal.

Count De Grunwald lifted his knife and deliberately almost threateningly placed it across the forward edge of his plate, folded his hands in his lap and coldly asked, Why are you cutting my throat, my dear old friend?

Why am I what? Marquand responded in pure astonishment.

Shall I repeat myself? You are killing our arrangement; you have finally become too greedy.

Really now, Dimitrie, accusations and anger before the first mouthful, all right then, let's do business, and to hell with the food.

The Count gruffly remarked, You have no right to be indignant, Christian; you are notorious for your avarice.

With eyebrows raised Marquand glowered and said, And so, you don't appreciate the money that our enterprise puts in your pocket?

The Count firmly responded, I take a fair share for the protection I provide, and nothing more. The South African connections that have made our venture possible are mine, can you deny that?

Marquand’s eyes were fixed on his guest. I deny nothing; it is my family name and my access to gem stones that allows us to move money around the world in safety. Have you forgotten I’ve given us the use of my Asian connections that represent the key to our enterprise? Anyway, why are we quibbling over a few extra dollars? You act as if you're impoverished.

It’s hardly a few extra dollars, as you put it, you are demanding millions more. The Count said sarcastically, I am not lucky enough to be a storekeeper as you are."

Marquand was obviously insulted. Being called a storekeeper was a serious insult and the Count had used the phrase with precise intent. Storekeeper you say! I am one of the most respected gem merchants on the planet, hardly a storekeeper.

The Count continued in a more respectful tone. I may owe you an apology but you certainly understand my need for the money that is so necessary for me to keep up appearances. I do have the good name of my family, my properties and the trappings of wealth but certainly nothing that slightly approaches your fortune, and you . . .you, have all this!

The Count waived his hand from side to side in a gesture that indicated the lavish premises surrounding them. You also have the earnings from our dealings together. Why do you need more?

The Count flatly stated, I want things to remain as they have been and more importantly, what do you think our partners will say when we tell them you want a greater share of the profits. Do you think they will accede to your demand?

Marquand chuckled. I don't give a good god damn what they think, I need the money, I need it badly for an enterprise that will reestablish my family name and settle an old score. I need it, and I intend to have it!

We are accomplishing nothing by quarreling over this matter. The Count dipped a tiny mother-of-peal spoon into the mound of Caviar on his plate and carefully squeezed one drop of lemon on the small portion, then paused before he ate. I am leaving tomorrow for England and I will consider what you have said. His face was grave with concern as the Count continued. Consistent with what our partners say, this may be a serious, even deadly problem, but we must work together. I have no choice, our bloody enterprise goes on and I will do whatever is necessary to see it does.

Marquand jammed a heaping fork full of food between his lips and raised his glass. Regardless, you’ll be a wealthy aristocrat to all who know you and I will continue to be a storekeeper in your eyes, however in the end we’ll both be rich!

In the end! the Count said, And when will that be?

Why Dimitrie, the end will come precisely, when we each have exactly what we want.

In the KwaZulu Natal district of South Africa an old mud stained truck rolled through the poorest section of Pinetown. The driver cautiously weaved his way through the narrow garbage choked alleys. The truck stopped in front of a typical tin shack as a man approached holding a brown kerosene filled beer bottle. He shook it and then struck a match that ignited the wick that had been pushed into the open neck. He cupped his hand around the flame to protect it from the wind and directed the flickering light toward the truck. Then, he cautiously moved forward and squinted in the glare of the lamp and tried to see into the truck's dark interior but could not make out the occupants.

A dog barked at the commotion and the man bent down, picked up a stone and hurled it hitting the half-starved animal squarely on the side. The mongrel let out a yelp of pain and darted across a nearby pile of garbage and quickly raced out of site.

Who is that? Who comes to my house? The frightened occupant asked.

Is that you, Breezy? the driver asked.

Breezy recognized the voice of a fellow tribesman. Yes, what do you want this time of night?

We need to bring the truck around back, right now. Open the gate, fool! The driver demanded.

Breezy complained, That truck makes too much noise, we can move it tomorrow.

The driver cranked the engine and shouted, Open the gate, or I drive straight through!

The mongrel dog appeared again and started barking when another stone was hurled in its direction. Soon, all other hounds in the neighborhood were howling. The disturbance was exactly what Breezy wanted to avoid. Realizing the noise of the vehicle would make little difference; he waived them into the rear yard and waited for the truck to pass, then closed and securely locked the gate. Soon all the neighborhood dogs quieted. A few people looked out of their windows and seeing nothing went back to sleep as the settlement was once again quiet.

The poachers were on the run and needed a place to hide; Breezy’s house had been chosen. Breezy cautiously asked, Man, too many people notice you at this time of night. Why did you not come in the morning?

The passenger door of the truck opened as Uuka, son of Chief Bamatu of the Sagatti, stepped from the cab.

Oh, Great One, I did not know it was you, such honor, Breezy’s voice trailed off as he lowered his head and bowed in fearful respect.

Several men jumped from the rear of the truck and walked to the front, their rifles at the ready.

We will stay here for the night. Uuka commanded, We will need food and straw for our beds.

The driver of the truck asked Uuka, Great One, what shall we do? What if our deed has been discovered and we are being hunted by De Vildman and his wardens?

Uuka looked up into the night sky and then his coal black eyes settled on his men. Jason de Vildman knows the dangers of this section of Pinetown at night. Even the local police do not come here after the sun sets. He may be trying to find us but he will not find us here and if he goes to our village to speak with my father he will learn nothing from him as he knows not of where we are. De Vildman will soon give up his hunt. Even the great warden and his men must sleep. Uuka laughed, The tribe has chosen me to be the next chief and none who value their lives will speak to him. The trail ends with his unanswered questions. De Vildman will not seek us tonight and by tomorrow all evidence of our kill will be gone; we will finish our work and go home rich. Bring the prize! He ordered.

One of his men walked to the driver's side of the truck and pulled the blood stained knapsack from under the seat and offered it to