26

“So where are we going?” asked Lara as the safari car made its way up the winding road.

“We’re going to stop by my house first,” answered Oliver. “It’s where I’ve got my old hunting rifle, and Max is there, too.”

“Who’s Max?”

“He’s my dog—a Jack Russell terrier. He’s got a hell of a mouth on him. Believe me, nobody’s going to sneak up on you when Max is around.”

She looked out the window. “I can’t really see it clearly, but it looks like the land’s very beautiful.”

“It is,” he said. “Karen Blixen’s old estate is just a couple of miles from here.”

“And where do you live?” she asked. “I’ve never visited your house.”

“We were always going out into the bush,” he said. “You weren’t paying to see a house. But it’s very close by, on Windy Ridge Road.”

“Windy Ridge?”

“It’s well-named,” replied Oliver. “The way the wind whips through here, especially in the rainy season, it could put Chicago to shame.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Lara. “How much property do you have?”

“Four acres,” he said. “There are a couple of local leopards living in the neighborhood, but Max lets me know whenever they’re around.”

“Leopards?” she repeated, surprised.

He smiled. “This isn’t Nairobi. This used to be farming country. Now it’s filled with British ex-pats and it’s the exurbs, which is as built-up as it’s ever gotten to be. And as long as there are places to hide, and dogs and horses to eat, there are going to be leopards. They’re like coyotes in America; just when you’re sure they’re gone, when you haven’t seen any in a year and you’ve searched every inch of the countryside and declared the place free of them, suddenly you’ve got a leopard in your lap.”

“Now I know why you keep your rifle.”

“The rifle’s for bandits,” he replied. “Oh, I’ve shot over the leopards’ heads a couple of times to scare them off, but my hunting days are over. I’ve come around to the view that leopardskins look better on the leopards and ivory looks better in an elephant’s mouth.”

He turned to the right, and she saw a small sign telling them that they were on Windy Ridge. A quarter mile later he pulled up to a large old wooden house, surrounded by verandas and patios, and with immaculate grounds.

“It’s lovely,” commented Lara.

“I wish I had something to do with it, but I only bought it a few years ago, and the gardeners came with it.”

The car came to a stop and they got out.

“That’s curious,” said Oliver.

“What is?”

“Max. He’s always here to greet me.”

“Maybe he’s sleeping.”

He shook his head. “Something’s wrong.”

“Why don’t you look for him in the house and I’ll check the yard?” suggested Lara.

“All right.”

“A Jack Russell terrier, right?”

“Yes.”

While Oliver entered the house, Lara began walking around the grounds. There was no outdoor lighting, but wherever one of the rooms was lit, it cast some light out onto the yard. It was when she went around the back of the house that she found herself in near-total darkness.

She could see the outline of a small wooden shed about fifty yards behind the house and decided to walk over and check it out in case the dog was there. She was just reaching for the door when she heard a rustling sound behind her and spun around to see what had made it.

She found herself facing the largest leopard she had ever seen. She reached for her pistols and realized that they were still packed away. She pulled out the Scalpel of Isis, prepared to sell her life as dearly as possible.

And then, rather than leaping upon her, the leopard spoke. His mouth didn’t move, but she could hear the same hollow tones, the same insubstantial voice, that had told her to find Gordon’s letter.

Why are you here? it demanded. Your path must take you elsewhere, across the sea. Find me, free me, release me, and I will give you dominion over the lives of men.

“I’m on my way,” she said, “but—”

Do not speak aloud, said the leopard silently. I can hear your thoughts.

I will be on Praslin Island soon, thought Lara.

Many will still try to stop you.

I know, she thought. Then: You seem to want me to find you. Will you protect me?

The leopard snarled.

I yearn to be found, to be used as Mareish wanted me to be used. But I protect no one. If you are worthy of me, you will come to me. If you can be stopped, then you were not the One.

“Fair enough,” she said aloud. “Just don’t hinder me.”

This meeting is done. Move away, for when I release the animal, it will do as it pleases. It has already killed the dog you are looking for.

Lara backed away a few feet and bumped into the shed.

“Fine,” she muttered to herself. “I’ll wait inside here until you go away or Malcolm sees you and blows you away with his rifle.”

She entered the shed and felt around for the back wall, and her hand came into contact with one of Oliver’s old hunting rifles. She checked the bolt to see if it was loaded. It wasn’t, but she felt numerous boxes of cartridges on a small shelf.

She opened one up and slid it into the rifle, only to find that it was the wrong size.

She looked out the door at the leopard, and could tell by his eyes, by his entire demeanor, that he had regained possession of his body. He began slinking through the grass toward her.

She slipped another bullet into the rifle, and this time it fit. She lined the leopard up in its sights as best she could in the darkness, then stood motionless at he stalked closer and closer, his tail twitching nervously.

Finally, when she was sure that the leopard was about to spring, she fired the rifle over its head. The leopard leapt back, snarling, and dashed away into the night when she raised the rifle again.

Oliver came racing out of the house, rifle in hand.

“What happened?” he shouted. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Malcolm,” she said. “Just a close encounter with a leopard.”

“Did you wound him?” Malcolm asked urgently.

Lara shook her head. “I also believe leopardskins look better on their original owners. I fired a shot to scare him off.”

“I’m surprised that old rifle didn’t break your shoulder,” he said. “It’s a .550 Nitro Express.” He looked around. “Did you see any sign of Max? I hope he didn’t run into that leopard.”

If I tell you the leopard killed him, you’ll ask how I know, and I don’t think it’s an answer you’re prepared to hear.

“No,” she said truthfully. “I haven’t seen him.”

“I guess he went off on a hunting expedition of his own,” said Oliver. “He does that every now and then. Ah, well, no sense waiting around all night, maybe all weekend, for him. I’ve got my rifle; that’s what I came for.”

They returned to the car, where the first thing Lara did was unpack her pistols and wrap her holsters around her hips. She tossed the shoulder bag on the rear seat, and then they drove down out of the Ngong Hills and were soon back on a level road again.

After a few miles she turned to him, and said, “You’re heading for the Rift Valley. Why?”

“We’re not going that far,” he replied. “This is Old Limuru Road. We’re only taking it to Banana Hill.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s about twenty miles out of Nairobi,” answered Oliver.

“What’s there?”

“A very pleasant, very peaceful, almost-unknown little hostelry called the Kentmere Club.”

“The Kentmere Club?” she repeated. “Didn’t we eat there once on the way back from a safari?”

“Did I take you there?” he said. “I don’t remember.”

“Well, I remember,” said Lara. “Duck was the specialty of the house, and I also had a wonderful chocolate roulade for dessert.”

“That’s the place, all right.”

“But it’s just a restaurant.”

“Most people think so,” answered Oliver, “but it’s actually a hotel. It’s got about a dozen rooms.”

“Okay,” she said. “Why there?”

“It’s not in Nairobi, it’s not in Naivasha, it’s not in Nanyuki, it’s not in Nyeri, it’s not in any city. And as I say, very few people know it’s a hotel.”

“Can we stay hidden there until Tuesday?” she asked doubtfully.

“I don’t know,” replied Oliver. “I hope so. I suppose it depends on how well-organized the other side is. You’d know that better than I do.”

If he expected a reply he was disappointed, because Lara remained silent. A few minutes later they pulled up to a lovely old Tudor mansion that looked like it would be more at home in Surrey or Tumbridge Wells.

Oliver walked up to the desk, spoke softly in Swahili, then turned to Lara.

“Do you have any Kenya shillings with you?” he asked.

She pulled out a wad, and he took half of it, handing it to the desk clerk.

“I thought they knew you here,” she said as he walked her up the stairs to their adjacent rooms.

“They do,” said Oliver.

“Then why did they ask you to pay up front? And why don’t they take credit cards?”

“Credit cards can be traced,” he said. “And I didn’t pay up front.”

“Then what was that all about?”

“A third of it was to keep their mouths shut if anyone should come around asking about us.”

“And the other two-thirds?”

He smiled. “To make them pretend they didn’t see you walk in wearing a pair of pistols. They may seem like part of your clothing to you, but they do tend to make other people very nervous.”

“Damn! I forgot all about them!”

“No problem. It’s all taken care of.” They stopped in front of a heavy oak door and he handed her a key. “Now I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

She entered the room. It needed some decorating and updating, but it was clean, and that was all that mattered to her. She took a quick shower, then lay down and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She awoke to the singing of birds. She put on her clothes, then walked to the window and looked out. The sun was up, a handful of diners were sitting at tables on the lawn, and the sight and smell of the food seemed to have attracted all the local birdlife.

She walked down the stairs and went outside, where she found Oliver already seated at a table, sipping a cup of coffee.

“Coffee?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

“I know it’s sinful for an Englishman,” he explained, “but I’ve had so many American clients who insist on starting the day with it that I’ve fallen into the habit.”

A white-jacketed Kikuyu waiter approached and asked for her order.

“I haven’t seen the menu yet,” she said. “I’ll have some tea when you bring it.”

“Yes, Memsaab,” he said, bowing slightly and heading off to the kitchen.

“Have a banana or a piece of melon while you’re waiting,” suggested Oliver, indicating the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table.

She reached for the bowl and a small starling started screeching.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked it. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite to beg at the table?”

Nobody ever had, and it walked boldly up to her.

“All right,” she said, picking up a small grape and holding it out for him.

It stared at the grape for a moment, then reached forward and took it out of her hand.

“How did you sleep?” inquired Oliver.

“Better than I have in days,” she replied. “I was exhausted, and that was a very comfortable bed. Now I’m ready to eat.” She paused. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“We’re leaving,” said Oliver, suddenly tense.

“When?”

“Right this second.”

“What about breakfast?”

“You don’t want it,” said Oliver, pointing to the starling, which lay on the ground, twitching feebly. As she turned to look at it, it died.

“No, I don’t,” she agreed, getting to her feet.

“Let’s go!” said Oliver urgently.

“Just a minute,” she said. “Someone tried to kill us. Let’s find out who.”

“They know who you are. You don’t know who they are, or how they found you, or even how many of them there are. A betting man wouldn’t take those odds.”

She considered it for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”

She was actually surprised that they made it to the car without getting shot at.