"Wait."

The voice was soft, but as usual, carried great authority. Lao was standing in the door, leaning against its frame, looking almost relaxed. His eyes betrayed no emotion. Chang hesitated, then slowly lowered his weapon until it pointed harmlessly at the floor.

"Well," he said sulkily. "What do you suggest then?"

"It is your ship," said Lao. "I cannot tell you what to do. But this development tells me now is not the time to act hastily." He sauntered into the room and picked up the bundle of chips and wires Chang had thrown to the floor.

"You are right," he said. "This is a transmitter. From one of the horns, you say? No doubt it transmits the position of that horn to someone. I don't think it takes much guesswork who that someone might be. Kruger is working for the police."

"All the more reason then to blow the dirty traitor's head off," said Chang, once again beginning to raise the gun.

"No," said Lao. "All the more reason not to. Who knows who else might be waiting around on this dock? I don't know how much they might already know. I have a feeling we might need hostages before long. For the moment, they are worth more to us alive than dead."

"And then, once we are on our way?"

"Then," said Lao, his lips curling into a thin little smile, "we don't need them anymore. You can have whatever fun with them you like, but I have a better idea. You want to make them pay? Well, why not make them pay literally? We go past Madagascar, don't we? I know someone there who would be very much interested in this bunch. You see, all over North Africa and the Middle East, there seems to be a constant shortage of labourers. And now look at this: two healthy men, and two pretty girls, just ready for a long a career in..."

Francis choked in fury. "Slaves!? You are going to sell us into slavery? You think you'll get away with that?"

Lao moved with the grace and speed of a leopard. The one moment he was still standing close to the doorway. The next, he had swung his hand, the palm connecting with the side of Francis' head.

Francis rocked back in the chair. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and a little trickle of blood begin dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Once again, Lao smiled coldly, almost serenely. "You are not really in a position to negotiate, my young friend," he said calmly, his voice soft, gentle, but carrying clearly through the whole room.

"Now, I suggest we make arrangements for our departure." Lao motioned to the three poachers. "Gag them. No-one would hear them scream anyway, but I'm not taking any chances."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the door, Chang following close behind.

Uncle Vernon, still badly dazed from the blow to the head, was grabbed and also tied securely into a chair. Then dirty rags were stuffed into their mouths, and tied in place.

Francis shook his head lightly, trying to clear his vision, which was still blurred from the slap he had received from Lao. The whole left side of his face felt like it had been dipped into molten lead, and his eyes watered.

He looked at Uncle Vernon, who was still sitting slumped in the chair, only half conscious. What idiots we have been, he thought. Of course! Uncle Vernon was not a criminal, he was part of a team investigating them! He felt equal measures of relief and shame.

Then his eyes fell on Laura, furiously but pointlessly straining at the ropes that bound her to the chair. He realized that this was no time for reflection. They had to get out of here, or they would all end their days as slaves for some warlord or oil baron. But how?

He forced himself to calm down. They could hardly breathe, let alone move or shout. And who would hear them anyway? If only they could get out of these ropes. The answer dawned on him in an instant. They were never searched before being tied up. His pocket knife, the same one he had used to cut them an opening in the tarpaulin on the truck, was still in his pocket. If only he could get it out, but how to do that with both his arms tied to the chair's armrests?

"Hmm-hm!" he mumbled through the stinking rag in his mouth. Laura stopped struggling with the ropes and looked at him. In jerky little movements, he managed to scrape the chair across the floor closer to her. Then he motioned with his head. How to make her understand?

"Hm! Hmm-hm!"

She looked at him, puzzled. He was pointing with his nose, and wiggling his fingers. It was almost comical. Then it suddenly dawned on her. Her eyes widened, and she started moving her chair closer. When they were right next to each other, he managed to stand up slightly, moving his pocket towards her right hand. She extended her fingers, and started to dig into his pocket. It seemed to take ages, and her fingers were beginning to get numb from lack of blood supply.

Then she felt the knife, and closed her fingers around it. She pulled it out of his pocket, and he sank back into normal sitting position, sweat dripping from his face. For an agonizing second, the knife almost slipped from her fingers. Then she had it firmly in her hand. But how to open it?

She leaned forward, opened her mouth, and tried to reach the blade with her teeth, but she was tied too firmly into the chair. Francis sidled up to her, until his left hand was right next to her right. He turned his hand over, wincing as the ropes painfully cut into his skin. But he barely managed to take hold of the blade. Using whatever manoeuvring space she had, Laura pulled. The knife popped open.

By this time, Uncle Vernon had regained full consciousness, and both he and Alice were watching intently.

Laura turned the knife the right way, and began to saw at the ropes binding Francis' left hand. It took almost fifteen minutes of patient cutting. Slowly, the rope frayed.

Footsteps approached in the corridor. She froze. The footsteps passed by.

Francis strained at the rope with all is might. It suddenly broke, and his arm flew upward, hitting him in his own face. I'm sure Lao would have loved to see that, he thought. His left arm was free. He grabbed the knife, and it took only a few seconds to saw through the ropes tying his other arm to the chair.

In two minutes, his sister and cousin were also free, spitting out bits of oily rag and rubbing their wrists to get the blood flow back to normal.

Francis stood in front of his Uncle, holding the knife.

"I don't know whether you really work for the police, but clearly we are in this together. Chang will not trust you again."

He leaned forward and quickly cut his uncle loose. Uncle Vernon ripped the gag from his mouth, spat out a few bits of oily cloth and said: "You don't need to trust me now. I'll prove it all to you later. I'm on your side." He smiled a little. "I don't know where on earth you come from, but I'm pretty glad you were here," he said. "I probably would have been dead already had it not been for you."

They looked around. There was nothing they could use as weapons.

"I don't think they locked the door when they left. Trusted their knots," said Uncle Vernon. He turned towards the door, where Francis was standing, listening for footsteps.

The door suddenly banged open. Chang appeared. Francis had not heard him coming.

"What the..." Chang dug in his pocket and pulled out his pistol. He lifted it and simultaneously started to pull the trigger.

Francis did not have time to think. He kicked with all his might. His foot connected just as Chang fired. The shot was deafening in the small space of the cabin, but the bullet flew harmlessly into the table.

Before Chang could fire another shot, Uncle Vernon was upon him. His big fist swung, and connected with the side of Chang's jaw like a small truck. Chang's head whipped backwards. He fell to the floor, slid across it like an ice hockey puck, and hit the wall.

Uncle Vernon hurried forward, grabbed the unconscious Chang and quickly tied his hands behind his back.

"Grab his pistol, will you?" he said to Francis. "They are all going to descend on us now, I fear."

He took the pistol from Francis, and looked out the cabin door.

Automatic rifle fire rattled from the end of the corridor, and bullets slammed into the floor and roof in front of them.

Uncle Vernon hastily pulled his head back. Francis was surprised to see him smiling a little.

"We're trapped," he whispered. "What do we do now?"

"Just wait a few seconds, if you ask me," said Uncle Vernon. He was still smiling mysteriously.

From down in the corridor, they could hear sudden shouts. A pistol shot rang out. Then silence.

Lao's quiet voice drifted down towards them.

"You can come out now. I have them under control."
"And just in time too," said Uncle Vernon, stepping through the door.

Francis winced. He expected a barrage of bullets to hit his uncle any moment now. Behind him, he could hear Alice and Laura gasp. But nothing happened.

Uncle Vernon turned to them and smiled. "Come," he said. "Trust me, there is no danger."

Hesitantly, they followed him through the door. At the end of the corridor, Lao was standing, pointing his pistol at Khumalo and the other two poachers, who had their hands in the air, and were glaring at him.

Lao smiled when he saw the expression on Francis' face. "Looks like you haven't informed them of everything yet," he said to Uncle Vernon.

The corridor shook with Uncle Vernon's booming laughter. "You are right. There was no time!"

Then he motioned with his hand towards Lao. "Well," he said. "Francis, Alice and Laura, may I introduce to you Inspector Lao Weilong, of the Chinese police force, endangered species unit? Apparently, his cover held up better than mine." He laughed again.

Lao extended his hand. Francis felt himself shrink back a bit. His own hand went to the still aching side of his head.

Lao smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "With all of them in the room, I couldn't start shooting. I had to play my role a little while longer, and I, well, I had to make it convincing, because Chang looked like he would not trust his own grandmother any more. You held up very bravely, I must say. Peace?"

He extended his hand again. In a daze, Francis shook it. Alice and Laura were shaking their heads in wonder.

"Well," said Inspector Lao. "The ship's crew probably don't know anything about all of this anyway, and they are all cowering in the engine room. I suggest you go fetch Chang. Then we can get back up and watch the sunrise. I could use a bit of relaxation now."

"I can't imagine a better idea," said Uncle Vernon. "Let's clean up this little mess. And then, I think, we owe my young guests a long explanation. Not to mention the explaining they are going to have to do in turn."