The Mystery of the Black Rhino Read online

  “They’re called cinemas here. Kenya mostly imports American and Indian films,” Frank said. He looked around the room and found a copy of the Daily Nation lying on the floor next to his father’s bed. He checked the index and found the page that advertised the movies that were showing. “Joe—look!” he said. “This could be Bayport.”

  Joe came over to where Frank was sitting on the floor and plopped down beside him. “Hey, that’s one I missed. I thought I’d have to wait until it came out on video. Who thought I’d have a chance to see it in Kenya?”

  Frank looked at the address of the theater. “That’s kind of far from here—in one of the western suburbs, I think,” he said. “I don’t think we should go too far tonight.”

  They scanned the rest of the listings, lingering from time to time on some of the Indian films with really interesting titles. They finally decided to go to a movie they had already seen, because it was at a theater on Kenyatta Avenue—just a block from the New Stanley Hotel.

  On their way out, the boys saw Dr. Douglas and said hello to him.

  “Did you get settled in?” Frank asked.

  Dr. Douglas nodded. “Yes. This is a very nice hotel. I’m glad I decided to stay here. Are you two headed out for a night on the town?”

  “We’re going to see a movie,” Joe replied. “It’s showing just down the street.”

  “Well, that’s a nice way to spend a few hours,” Dr. Douglas said. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Thanks,” the Hardy boys said.

  “Have a good night,” Frank added.

  “Oh, I shall, I shall,” Dr. Douglas assured them.

  The Hardy boys knew when they left the lobby that they’d have a police escort, but they didn’t care. The officer might like the movie they were taking him to.

  The theater was crowded, and Frank and Joe had to sit closer to the front of the auditorium than they preferred. There were times when Frank and Joe were the only ones in the theater laughing about what the characters were doing. Frank soon realized that the humor would probably only make sense to an American.

  When the movie was over, Frank and Joe filed out with the rest of the crowd. They reached the lobby and Joe wondered what would happen if Harry Andrews had decided to see this movie, too. It wasn’t long until they spotted their police escort, who, instead of seeing the movie, had apparently just waited outside the theater for them.

  Once they were back at the hotel, the boys lingered in the gift shop for a few minutes and talked about getting something to eat at the Thorn Tree Café. They decided just to go to bed; it had been a long day.

  • • •

  Frank woke up with a start. The room was full of thick smoke. He could hardly breathe.

  “Joe!” he managed to shout. “We have to get out of here!”

  When his brother didn’t answer him, Frank rushed to Joe’s side, shook him, and, when that didn’t work, rolled him out of bed and onto the floor.

  Finally Joe came to life—but he started wheezing. He was clearly having difficulty breathing.

  “What’s going on?” Joe gasped. “What’s happening?”

  “Fire,” Frank said. “We have to get out of here.”

  Together they put on their shoes, ran to the door of their room, and undid the chain and the safety locks. Frank tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s stuck!” he cried.

  Joe tried pulling on the door, but it still wouldn’t open.

  The smoke was now so thick in the room that the boys could barely see.

  “We’ll have to use the windows,” Joe said.

  The Hardy boys dropped to the floor to get under the smoke and started crawling toward the nearest window. Several times they got so disoriented by the smoke that they had to go back to their beds and start all over again.

  Joe started to cough, and Frank was afraid that he was going to pass out. By the time they finally reached a window, though, Joe had stopped coughing.

  Frank used the windowsill to pull himself up. He unlatched the window’s lock—but when he tried to raise the window, it wouldn’t budge. At first he thought it was just stuck—but then he noticed something that sent chills down his spine.

  “Joe—somebody has nailed the window shut,” Frank managed to say. He ran his fingers over the heads of the nails. They were at random places at the bottom of the window frame. “Someone deliberately did this. We’ll have to smash our way out.”

  Joe had started to cough violently. Frank knew that this time he might not be able to stop.

  Frank steeled himself and stood up in the acrid smoke. He began feeling his way around the room. He needed a chair to heave through the window. It was their only way out.

  Finally he found what he was looking for: the straight-back chair his father used when he was sitting at the writing desk.

  Frank picked it up, stumbled once, stubbed his toe twice, and finally managed to make it to the window. He set the chair down, fell to the floor, gulped in some of the less smoky air, then stood up again.

  “Cover your face, Joe!” Frank shouted. He heaved the chair at the window with all of his might.

  The chair smashed through with such force that almost all of the glass was blasted out. Cool, fresh air rushed into the room. Frank felt along the floor for Joe, lifted him onto his shoulder, and set him on the window ledge.

  Frank leaned out the window himself, gulped some of the air, and then followed Joe onto the ledge. For a few seconds he surveyed the scene below.

  What he saw puzzled him. There was no one around. Where are the fire trucks? he wondered. Wasn’t the hotel on fire?

  Just barely within Frank’s reach were the upper limbs of a large tree that shaded their room. They’d have to climb down this tree to escape.

  Frank looked over at Joe and saw that his brother seemed to be recovering. “Do you remember how to do this?” Frank asked.

  Joe grinned. “Remember? I’m the one who taught you how to climb out our bedroom window at home using that old tree.”

  Frank smiled back. Joe was right. He was more agile than a monkey when it came to climbing trees.

  “Then let’s do it,” Frank said.

  He reached out, grabbed what looked like the strongest limb near him, and swung off the ledge. The limb bent more than he thought it would and sent him plunging a few feet. His heart nearly stopped. Fortunately the limb held, and Frank managed to grab an even stronger limb and climbed to a perch from where he could help Joe.

  Joe grabbed the same limb that Frank had used, went through the same bungee-cord experience that his brother had, and pulled himself onto the limb next to Frank.

  Joe looked around. “Where is everybody?” he said.

  “I was wondering the same thing when we were on the ledge,” Frank told him. “I don’t think the whole hotel is on fire.”

  “You mean the fire was confined to only our room?” Joe said.

  “Actually, I don’t think it was a fire,” Frank said. “There were no flames anywhere.”

  “You mean . . . ,” Joe started to say.

  Frank nodded. “Somebody put some sort of device in our room that would fill it with smoke. Remember that we couldn’t get the door open? Somebody fixed it so we’d never get it open,” he explained. “The window had been nailed shut. We weren’t supposed to escape. We were supposed to die of smoke inhalation.”

  The Hardy boys climbed the rest of the way down the tree and found themselves in a small garden at the side of the hotel.

  They made their way out a gate and onto a narrow service drive that led to the front of the New Stanley. It was only when they reached Kimathi Street that they realized they were still in their pajamas.

  Just as they started to enter the lobby, a car pulled away from the curb.

  Joe glanced in its direction as it passed under a streetlight. “Frank!” he cried. “Look at that car.”

  Frank turned, but the vehicle was quickly out of sight. “What about it?”<
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  “Andrews was driving—and I think Dr. Douglas was sitting beside him!” Joe said.

  “What?” Frank cried. Suddenly it all made sense. Dr. Douglas was no professor. He was the man Harry Andrews had said would be coming to Nairobi in two days. “So Dr. Douglas was the one who put that smoke device inside our room? He probably fixed the door so it wouldn’t open and nailed the windows shut.”

  “He knew we’d be gone for a while,” Joe said, “because we told him. I can’t believe it.”

  When they entered the hotel’s lobby, they had to put up with some stares. They were so excited about what they had just learned, though, that it didn’t matter to them.

  One of the police officers ran up to them, scowling. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “You must stop doing this. We have other things . . .”

  Frank raised a hand to stop him. “Listen,” he said. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. By now other police officers and some of the hotel staff had joined them. “It’s not what you think.”

  Frank proceeded to tell them everything that had happened in the last several minutes. From time to time Joe added some details that Frank had left out.

  A panicked manager pushed through the crowd to call the fire department. He wanted to make sure that the rest of the hotel, indeed, wasn’t on fire. After calling he took several of the staff with him up to the Hardys’ floor to survey the damage.

  Joe could see that the police officers who had heard their story no longer looked angry. In fact, they seemed in awe of the boys.

  “I think some of us owe you an apology,” one of the officers said.

  “Forget about that,” Joe said. “Would you please contact Dr. Malindi and tell him to meet us here at the hotel?”

  “Why?” the other police officer asked.

  “We have to save a black rhino,” Frank said. “The man who wants to kill it is here in Nairobi.”

  14 Death of the Black Rhino

  * * *

  Within fifteen minutes Dr. Malindi was in the lobby of the New Stanley Hotel.

  Joe told him about seeing Harry Andrews and the man who called himself Dr. Douglas.

  “We need to move at once,” Dr. Malindi said. He looked at Frank and Joe. “I know you’ve been through quite an ordeal tonight. Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  The Hardy boys pronounced themselves ready for action.

  “We want to catch these men as much as you do,” Joe said. “The black rhino is not the only thing they’re interested in killing.”

  A police car was waiting in front of the hotel. Dr. Malindi got in the front seat with the driver, and Frank and Joe climbed into the back. The driver pulled out into Kimathi Street and headed toward the Hotel Zebra. Just as they turned onto River Road, the radio crackled, and a voice told Dr. Malindi that Room 37 in the hotel was vacant.

  “Where could they have gone?” Dr. Malindi said.

  The Hardy boys thought for a minute.

  “I know someone who might know,” Joe said. “The shopkeeper at Mombasa Curios.”

  The driver made a U-turn and drove back to Moi Avenue. There were no cars parked on the side of the street in front of Mombasa Curios, but the driver, at Dr. Malindi’s request, parked several doors away.

  “We don’t want this car to alert them,” Dr. Malindi said. “It is very important that we take them by surprise.”

  At this hour the shop was closed. The boys noticed lights in the windows above, which they thought might be where the shopkeeper and his wife lived.

  Dr. Malindi suggested that the driver and Joe knock on the door and pretend to be frustrated tourists who had forgotten to buy some souvenirs and wouldn’t have a chance tomorrow because of an early morning flight back to the United States.

  Dr. Malindi and Frank would remain in the shadows, a few feet away, until the door was opened.

  What if they don’t open it? Frank thought.

  After a few minutes a light went on in the shop, and someone started to unlatch the front door.

  “We’re closed,” the shopkeeper’s wife said. “What was it you wanted?”

  The driver went into his act. His American accent would have fooled most people. The shopkeeper’s wife let them know that letting tourists in was an imposition at this time of night. She told them they could come in, but she certainly hoped they made it worth her while.

  When the shop door was fully opened, Dr. Malindi and Frank rushed out of the shadows and quickly followed the driver and Joe into the shop.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the shopkeeper’s wife demanded. “Who are you people?”

  Dr. Malindi told her.

  Now the woman was frightened. “No one is here. I don’t know where they are. I have nothing to do with the hun—” Suddenly, she stopped, having realized that she had probably said too much already.

  But one look from Dr. Malindi made her continue.

  “They went to the Aberdares National Park,” the woman said. “That’s all I know. I won’t say any more.”

  Dr. Malindi looked at Frank and Joe. “That’s what we needed to know,” he said. “That’s one of the few places where black rhinos are left in Kenya.”

  They rushed out of the shop, leaving the woman staring after them.

  “Do you think she’ll contact them and tell them we’re coming?” Joe asked as they ran toward the police car.

  “This isn’t America, Joe. Not everyone has a cell phone,” Dr. Malindi said. “I doubt if anyone could reach them. They’re probably in some old pickup truck that they borrowed from one of the locals. They’d be trying to look as unobtrusive as possible.”

  As they headed toward Wilson Airport to get a police helicopter to fly them north to the Aberdares National Park, Joe asked, “Why are there so few rhinos left?”

  “Some foreigners think the rhino’s horn has medicinal purposes,” Dr. Malindi replied. “For one horn, they’ll pay what most Kenyans would make in ten years of working at a regular job.”

  “I’m sure that’s a big temptation for a lot of people,” Frank said.

  “It most certainly is,” Dr. Malindi agreed. “The rhino population in Kenya in 1970 was twenty-two thousand. Today there are just a few hundred.”

  At Wilson Airport a member of Dr. Malindi’s staff was waiting with the warm clothing and boots that the Hardy boys and Dr. Malindi would need for the Aberdares.

  It took them only an hour by helicopter to reach the entrance to the park. They were met by Joshua Satima, one of the park officials. After introductions Dr. Malindi and Frank and Joe got into Satima’s Land Rover. They all headed into the park.

  “Two men fitting the description you gave us were spotted in an old pickup at Tusk Hut, near Prince Charles Campsite,” Satima told them. “Unfortunately our officers lost them in the darkness and the fog.”

  “Our luck,” Dr. Malindi said.

  “We’re going to have our men stationed near the Ark and Treetops,” Satima said. “That’s where the black rhino are often seen in the early morning hours.”

  “There are only sixty black rhino in the park,” Dr. Malindi added. “It’s the largest indigenous population left in Kenya.”

  When they reached Tusk Hut, beyond Ruhuruini Gate, Satima turned right and headed toward Tree-tops.

  Frank and Joe had heard about this famous “tree-hotel.” Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip were staying there when Elizabeth’s father died and she became queen. From the rooms, which were built above watering holes, guests could watch all kinds of animals in their natural habitats.

  When they reached Treetops, Satima said, “There’s no road between here and the Ark. We have men watching the approaches to both tree-hotels, but we’re going to walk a line between here and the Ark in hopes of surprising the poachers somewhere along the way. We think they’ll follow the Thaara River—they’re probably not all that familiar with the park, so they’ll want to make sure they don’t get lost.”

  Satima told everyone to keep conve
rsation to a minimum. They wanted to make sure they could hear any animals—or humans—that were approaching.

  Their trek took them through dense rain forest.

  Two hours into the journey the sky above them began to show a lighter cast, signaling the approach of dawn.

  An hour later they reached the Ark. They still hadn’t seen either Andrews or the fake Dr. Douglas.

  Satima had just suggested breakfast in the compound dining room when suddenly there was shouting on the north side of the compound.

  Dr. Malindi, Mr. Satima, and the Hardy boys rushed north. They found some of the Ark staff trying to untie three uniformed park officials.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Frank said to Dr. Malindi.

  “I agree,” Dr. Malindi said.

  The three officials told a visibly angry Joshua Satima about how they’d been surprised by two men driving a dirty old pickup. It hadn’t come from the south, as they had thought it would; it had come from the north, probably through the forest by way of Wanderis Gate.

  “It never occurred to me that they’d come in that direction. It’s out of the way,” Satima said. “I thought they’d come in through Ruhuruini Gate.”

  “You were obviously wrong,” Dr. Malindi said. Joe noticed the tension in the air. “Get on the radio, Satima, and have your men count the black rhinos.”

  Satima swallowed hard and did as Dr. Malindi asked. In the meantime Dr. Malindi took the Hardy boys to breakfast. Joshua Satima didn’t accompany them. Just as they were finishing, Satima came into the dining room.

  Dr. Malindi looked up. “Well?” he said, scarcely hiding the disdain in his voice.

  “My men reported that there are fifty-nine rhinos, Dr. Malindi,” Satima said.

  “Fifty-nine,” Dr. Malinda said. “Fifty-nine,” he repeated after a minute. “That means one of them is missing. I’d venture a guess that it’s in a dirty old pickup, headed for a secret slaughterhouse.”

  Joshua Satima hung his head.