“I do not know. Is it not inconsequential, as small and as few as there are?”
“Maybe, but that’s not for us to decide. We’ll let the science—the analysis—determine that.” He pointed at another plant. “How about this one?”
“I do not know that one.”
“Okay, what about this one?”
“I do not know that one.”
“We were going strong there for a moment. I’ll key them out later. Each would get listed with a small amount of cover.” He picked up the quadrat, and tossed it a few meters away. “Now, those plants, those species are entirely different. By randomly locating the quadrat, and doing enough quadrats to deal with the variability between quadrats, you sample the population—and compile information to use in statistical analyses. Those analyses are used to make inferences about the entire ecosystem. Looking at impacts, and levels of utilization by wildlife species and humans, and comparing those results over time, to controls—or places where you do not have utilization—you can actually draw inferences about system resistance and resilience.”
Samuel nodded.
Jack turned to face him. “So, Samuel, you obviously know some plants, but not all. More importantly, you’re not a scientist. You don’t strike me as a foolish man. Even with the risk of losing the research, it’d be better to put it on hold than do it poorly, dishonoring the reputation of Gabriel as a scientist. Take the time. Find someone with credentials to carry on his work.”
“I will find that person. But first, we must show that Gabriel’s work has continued. That it must continue.” His radio crackled with voices. Samuel turned away and listened. When the exchange ceased, he turned back.
“Do you understand Maasai?” Jack asked.
“I am Maasai.”
“All the rangers are?”
“No. We are a small tribe compared to others.”
“Was Gabriel Maasai?
“No. He was Kikuyu.”
“I see,” Jack said, watching his eyes, wanting to ask more questions, deciding not to probe. Not now. Not without knowing what questions were right or wrong.
The radio popped. Incomprehensible words. Samuel pulled the radio from its holster, and spoke. When the exchange was over, he said, “I must go. Poachers.”
“In the daylight?”
“I will return when I can.” Samuel bolted for the vehicle.
“I can stay in the truck,” Jack shouted. He tucked the plant book under his arm, and picked up the quadrat, disassembling as he jogged. He climbed in, as Samuel started the Land Cruiser.
Samuel hit the gas, steering onto the road. At the next crossroads, he turned south, then abruptly onto a lesser road. At the sight of another Land Cruiser, he lifted the radio to his mouth, spoke a few words, listened to the response, then drove past, slowing at a bend in the road.
Ahead, two rangers—one male, one female—lay prone on the ground, aiming AK-47s across open grassland toward a fringe of acacia. Samuel grabbed his rifle and slid out the door.
Samuel moved quickly, then diving as bullets pinged the length of the Land Cruiser. With the vehicle’s shell perforated, sound rang through the cab. Jack froze. Another burst. Glass shattered. He yanked the door open and rolled into the grass, crawling for the front wheel well. Sheltered behind the wheel and engine block, he drew in an excited breath. Another shot, and the vehicle sank, one tire gone.
Stay or run?
Another shot.
Jack twisted around, unable to see. Where’s Samuel? He started to yell, then stopped. Don’t. You’ll get him killed.
The rangers in front of the vehicle, wearing camo, returned fire from behind a berm, in bursts directed across open ground. Another burst came from behind. Maybe Samuel.
Shots popped in the distance. Dirt erupted at the top of the berm. Rangers lowered their heads. One raised a Kalashnikov and returned fire. The other crawled toward a larger, grass-covered mound. She peeked over the mound, sighted in and waited. After a moment, she raised binoculars and scanned.
Jack sat watching, listening, tucked behind the wheel.
A ranger fired off another shot, then looked over the berm.
Jack cringed as he watched the man raise his head.
Nothing happened.
Peering through grass, they scanned for movement.
After a few minutes, and exchanging words, they crept forward.
Jack watched, staying low, losing sight of them as they advanced. Stay put. Don’t be a disruption.
Minutes passed.
No more shots.
More minutes, then, “Mr. Jack?”
Jack jumped.
Samuel stood clutching his AK-47, sweat dripping from his brow, his shirt soaked.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
“No harm done.”
“Your rangers?”
“No one hurt. Poachers are gone. Your director was right. We shall stay at headquarters. I am sorry. I put you in harm’s way.”
Jack let out chuckle. “My idea, and . . . hey, happens all the time.”
“You are attempting to jest, I assume.”
“Yes, I’m joking.” He stood and followed, as Samuel walked around the vehicle, surveying the bullet holes in the rear door and quarter panel.
“Poachers are getting bolder. I did not expect this to happen during the day.” He sighed. “It is wise that you chose not to stay in the vehicle.”
“Needed some air.”
Samuel ignored the humor. He stared hard. “Regardless. After today, we stay at headquarters.”
Chapter
10
The next morning.
Weeds. In abundance.
Jack stood, hands on his hips, staring out at the ground surrounding headquarters. Anything but pristine. Not unexpected. “Okay. This certainly collapses the effectiveness of our training, but . . .”
“Will it not require the same methodology?”
“It will, but I’m not sure how applicable it feels.” Jack shook his head. “Uh, . . . before we get started, I’d like to send a few emails.”
“Perhaps later.” Samuel shrugged. “The internet connection is not functioning properly.”
“Seriously?”
“These things happen. Service will be restored. At times patience is required.”
“Okay, but . . . I have emails I need to send, pronto.”
Samuel rubbed his eyes.
“You look like hell, Samuel.”
“I did not get much sleep. I was up late, following leads. Leads that did not play out.”
“No help?”
“Correct, no help. Shall we continue the lessons from yesterday?”
It