Dictator by Tom Cain

single bull elephant striding across the savannah. The artist had somehow perfectly captured not just its appearance, but its spirit. Carver could almost feel the earth tremble at the elephant’s approach, as though it might at any moment break free from the imprisonment of the picture and step right out into the room.
    ‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’
    Wendell Klerk’s low rumble of a voice had, if anything, become even deeper in the years since Carver had first heard it.
    He turned to look at his host. Klerk had acquired a few more lines on his face and the curly hair had gone from coal black to steely grey, but the man’s pugnacious air of vitality and determination was undimmed.
    ‘Good to see you again, Sam,’ Klerk said, taking Carver’s hand in a crushing grip. ‘Glad you could make it. I want you to know that I have not forgotten what you did for me and my family. I can never repay you. Never.’
    Carver gave a wry smile, thinking of the massive fee that had been deposited in his Geneva account. ‘You made a pretty good stab at it, Mr Klerk.’
    The tycoon laughed. ‘Ja, that’s true! But hey, call me Wendell. You are my guest, in my home. I don’t want to stand on ceremony.’
    Klerk went across to the table where the drinks had been left. He ignored the water, poured himself a deep measure of whisky, downed it in one and refilled his glass before rejoining Carver by the fireplace.
    ‘David Shepherd did that for me – finest wildlife artist in the world,’ Klerk said, looking up at the painting. ‘What’s really remarkable, he was working entirely from photographs. The old bull was dead. I had shot him – quite legally I should add. Those are his tusks: one hundred and eleven, and one hundred and thirteen pounds respectively. We were in northeast Namibia, the Caprivi Strip. I tell you, man, when I came back to Cape Town with those beauties, no one could bloody believe it. Mind you, they cost me the love of a fine young woman.’
    ‘How so?’
    ‘Her name was Renée. Beautiful girl, but she hated the idea of me shooting such a magnificent creature. I tried to explain that it is vital to cull the herds for conservation purposes. If elephant populations are allowed to expand too much, they will destroy their habitat through overeating. Then there is nothing left for them, or other animals, or even the human population, and that is when things turn nasty. It is far better for everyone to manage the elephants through controlled hunting. It even provides legal ivory so that there is less opportunity for poachers to make money.’
    ‘What did Renée say to that?’
    ‘She said she didn’t care. Killing animals was wrong and she couldn’t love a man who could slaughter a defenceless elephant. I said to her, try wandering up to an angry bull elephant and see how defenceless it is. How would you like one of those tusks jammed right through your guts?’
    ‘I bet she didn’t like that.’
    ‘No, she certainly did not! But my argument still stands. Sometimes the herd must be culled. Sometimes the rogue male must be destroyed. Do you understand what I’m saying, Sam?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘Good,’ said Klerk. ‘Because there is someone I want you to cull.’

26
     
    Carver closed his eyes for a second and sighed. ‘You know I don’t do that kind of thing any more,’ he said. ‘I quit a long time ago.’
    Klerk nodded. ‘That’s what I heard, yes.’
    ‘So why are you asking?’
    ‘Because this is a special case,’ said Klerk. He placed his whisky glass on the mantelpiece. When he spoke again, his hands were in front of him, palms up in something close to supplication. ‘Listen, I truly believe that what I am about to ask you to do will make the world a better place. You could be saving tens, even hundreds of thousands of lives. Millions of people will be freer, healthier and more prosperous.’
    Carver took another sip of his drink. ‘And how, precisely, will I do that?’
    Klerk looked him