The Amulet of Power (21 page)

He picked up the mamba and carried it off, returning a few minutes later.

“Well, nothing good is going to happen here,” he said. “They know where you are. You’d better get your bag. If they want a second chance at you, they’re going to have to find you first, and I know this country about as well as anyone.”

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.

27

Oliver drove north on unpaved bumpy roads for an hour, then headed east toward the mountains.

“Mount Kenya?” asked Lara, staring at the white-capped peak to the country’s tallest mountain.

He shook his head. “Too many tourists up at Bill Holden’s old place.”

“You mean the Mount Kenya Safari Club?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going, then?”

“The Aberdares,” answered Oliver. “Except for Meru it’s probably the least-frequented national park in the country. There are a couple of game-viewing lodges, but almost no one ever drives through the park. We’ll go up into the mountains, and God help anyone who thinks he can sneak up on us there.”

“So we’ll spend the night out in the park?”

“No, it’s too dangerous—and not from your Mahdists and such,” said Oliver. “It’s no longer politically correct to shoot lions that eat cattle or attack men, so if they can capture them without killing them, they turn them loose up toward the top of the Aberdares mountain range. There’s plenty of game for them up there—buffalo, bongo, bushbuck, some other stuff—but they’ve developed a taste for men. It’s the one park where I don’t feel comfortable spending the night without even a tent.”

“So what are we doing there?”

“Buying a few hours. When it’s twilight, I’ll drive us to one of the lodges, either Treetops or the Ark. They lock up the approaches at dark, so if we time it right, even if someone figures out that we’re going there, they won’t be able to get in. And if they do, well, these lodges are raised on stilts and overlook spotlighted salt licks and water holes, and people tend to stay up all night watching the game. That’s a lot of witnesses.” He paused. “The lodges use retired white hunters as their animal spotters. I know just about all of them, so wherever we go, I should be able to get a little help guarding you when I get tired.”

“I’m pretty good at guarding myself,” said Lara.

“I know you are, but there are an awful lot of them and only one of you.”

After passing miles of cultivated fields punctuated by little groups of circular thatched huts they entered a small town that was a blend of old colonial structures, a few new stores on the major thoroughfare, and rows of shanties just off the main streets.

“Where are we?” asked Lara.

“This is Nyeri,” answered Oliver. “You’ve passed through here before. We just never stopped when we were on safari.” He pointed to a brick building. “That’s the White Rhino Inn, the counter-insurgents’ headquarters during the Mau Mau Emergency, which the politically correct types now refer to as the Battle for Independence.”

“You look like you’re pulling in there.”

“I am,” he said as the car came to a stop. “Wait here for a minute.”

It stretched to five minutes, but then he emerged from the inn, carrying two cardboard boxes and a sack filled with cans.

“What have you got?” she asked.

“Some box lunches and a dozen cans of soda pop,” he said. “Once we’re in the park there’s nothing to eat, and you were hungry two hours ago.”

“I still am,” she said. “It smells delicious.”

“There’s no law that says you can’t munch on a drumstick while we drive,” suggested Oliver, and she took him at his word, pulling out a piece of fried chicken and eating it ravenously.

They came to the entrance to the park a few moments later. Oliver left the car to enter a small kiosk and pay an entry fee, then got back in when a ranger emerged to open the gates and let him through.

“I think this is my favorite park,” he remarked as they began driving up the dirt road that wound its sinewy way up the mountain range.

“I thought all you ex-hunters liked the Northern Frontier District best.”

“For hunting, yes,” said Oliver. “They always had the biggest tuskers up there. But for beauty, I’ll take the Aberdares every time. They’re always green, and because of the altitude they’re never too hot.”

“Not that many animals, though,” she noted.

“There’s tons of animals up here, as many as anywhere except the Maasai Mara,” he replied. “But most of them are in the forest, and it’s almost impossible to get off the road until we’re above eight thousand feet in altitude.” He came to a gentle stop. “Take a look off to the side.”

She looked out the window. The mountain towered above the driver’s side of the car, but her side was parallel with the tops of some trees that grew on the downslope, and she could almost reach out and touch a family of black-and-white Colobus monkeys that were sitting on a limb, grooming each other and staring in curiosity at the vehicle.

“That’s another thing I like about the Aberdares,” commented Oliver. “Anywhere else you’d have to stand fifty feet below the Colobus colonies and look at them through binoculars—if you could see them at all through all the foliage. But up here they’re almost in your lap.”

He started the car again, and they drove another two miles, stopping frequently to observe more Colobus monkeys, and once to let a huge bull elephant get off the road before trying to drive past him.

“Did you ever do any hunting here?” she asked.

“Not animals.”

“What, then?”

“This was where the King’s African Rifles fought the Mau Mau prior to independence, here and over on Mount Kenya.” He grimaced. “We won the war, and then Parliament decided it was too expensive to keep an empire, so we gave them independence anyway. Think of the lives we could have saved on both sides if someone had thought of that before the war began.”

“It’s terrible terrain for a war,” she remarked.

“I know,” agreed Oliver. “Sometimes you’d look off in the distance, and see your opposite number on a slope, and you knew it would take you at least three or four hours to climb over there and he’d be long gone by then . . . so you just smiled and waved at each other.”

“I’m amazed that there’s so little residual bitterness,” she said. “Everyone in Kenya seems to get along well these days.”

“Well, most of the men who fought that war are either dead or else getting up there in years,” he replied. “Hell, I was just a teenager when I saw my first action on this mountain. But strangely enough, there was never any lasting enmity, not on either side. It was a war, we all got it out of our system, they got their independence a couple of years later, we got out of the colonization business, they joined the Commonwealth, and everybody was happy.”

The road began leveling off, and suddenly they were driving over a flat field. Finally he stopped the car near a waterfall, pulled out his Magnum and tucked it in his belt, got out, and took the box lunches and a couple of cans of pop with him, and Lara climbed out from her side of the car.

“The Gura Falls,” announced Oliver.

“You couldn’t have chosen a lovelier place for a picnic,” said Lara.

“I didn’t choose it for its beauty,” replied Oliver. “I chose it because there’s not a tree or a bush for three hundred yards. If anything from a lion to a Mahdist approaches, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

“What
do
we do if a lion approaches?” she asked. “I don’t imagine my pistols would have much effect from more than a few feet away.”

“The only thing to remember is not to run,” said Oliver. “They’re hard-wired to chase about anything that runs away from them. And don’t talk. Human voices seem to irritate the bejabbers out of them.”

“So what
do
we do?”

“Just stare at them,” he replied. “They don’t like to meet your gaze.”

“And that’s it?”

He chuckled. “Lara, the car’s only ten yards away, and I promise you’ll see any approaching lions at three hundred yards. But even if the car wasn’t there, they probably wouldn’t bother us.”

“Even man-eaters?”

“I don’t like to take chances with man-eaters, which is why we’re not spending the night up here, but you have to remember that most of them became man-eaters because the spread of farms and villages had rid them of their natural prey. There’s plenty to eat up here, and one of Man’s greatest survival traits seems to be that we don’t smell very appetizing or taste very good. Feed a hungry lion, or give him a chance to feed himself, and ninety percent of your man-eaters go back to eating what they’re supposed to eat.” He smiled. “It’s the other ten percent I don’t trust.”

They opened the boxes and began eating the fried chicken and some roast beef sandwiches, washing them down with the soda. When they were done Oliver gathered the boxes and put them in the back of the safari car.

A small family of elephants, four females and two youngsters, broke into the clearing, seemed surprised to see the two humans and the safari car, and gave it a wide berth as they made a sweeping semicircle and disappeared into the bush a few minutes later.

Oliver looked at his wristwatch. “It’s just past noon,” he said. “We can loaf here for the next few hours, or drive around and pretend we’re on safari.”

“I’d love to look around the Aberdares,” said Lara. “But the Mahdists seem so well-organized that I think it makes a lot more sense to stay here in the open where no one can sneak up on us.”

“Whatever you say,” replied Oliver, opening another can of soda and taking a long swallow.

“It’s nice to just sit and relax and not be shot at,” she remarked.

“It’s hard to believe all this is because of some trinket that Chinese Gordon stole from the Mahdi more than a century ago.” He paused. “What do you plan to do with it if you find it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You can’t very well turn it over to a government or give it to a museum, not if a million men are willing to kill whoever you give it to.”

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” she admitted.

“If it was me, I’d take it to Europe and sell it for top dollar. Get filthy rich, retire, and let the Mahdists chase the new owner.”

A pair of vultures began circling lazily overhead, riding the warm thermals, and the discussion changed to raptors and other birds, then to the habits of the animals that lived on the mountain range, and before she quite realized it four hours had passed and Oliver got to his feet and announced that it was time to leave.

“We don’t want to be in the park at sunset,” he explained, “because they lock the gates then and we won’t be able to get out until morning. Also, I lied about our identities when I registered at the gate, but by tomorrow, when we don’t turn up anywhere else, the Mahdists will figure out who we are, so it’s best to be out of here.”

“Which lodge will we go to?”

“The Ark. It’s closer. If we’d kept driving, we’d probably have wound up at Treetops.”

She opened the car door, and suddenly stopped. “Do you smell something?” she said.

“Half-eaten chicken.”

“No,” she said. “I think it’s . . . I don’t know . . . maybe gasoline?”

He sniffed deeply. “Yeah, I smell it.” He frowned. “Might be a little leak.” He handed her the keys. “Start it up and I’ll see if anything’s wrong.”

She climbed onto the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.

“Gun it,” said Oliver, who had raised the hood and was peering underneath it.

She put her foot down hard.

“Damned if I can see anything wrong.” He lowered the hood, then pulled himself up onto the passenger’s seat. “Long as you’re sitting there, you might as well drive. It’s not often I get to just lean back and appreciate the sights.”

“So we’re not losing any fuel?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“I still smell that odor.”

“Start driving. If we’ve got a fuel leak, the gauge will show it sooner or later. And I’ll check it out thoroughly after we reach the Ark. They’ve got a pretty well-equipped garage there.”

She drove across the flat open area, moved onto the road, and began heading back down the mountain.

“The turn-off’s in about three and a half miles,” he told her. “We’ll still be pretty high up.”

The car began going faster, and raced into a sharp turn on only two wheels.

“Go a little slower,” said Oliver. “You almost went off the road.”

Lara frowned. “I can’t!”

“What’s the matter?”

“The brakes aren’t working!”

“They worked fine all the way up here!” said Oliver.

“Someone at the hotel must have tampered with them!” she said, struggling to hold the road. “We’ve probably been losing fluid all day!”

They came to another curve. Lara floored the brake pedal. There was no response.

“Try the hand brake!” Malcolm shouted.

Lara yanked the hand brake back; there was no response.

The car kept going faster and faster as it raced downhill. She downshifted to second, and they felt the gears strip. Oliver didn’t say a word; he didn’t want to distract Lara while she was trying to negotiate the road at high speed.

It was Lara who finally spoke. “We are in
big
trouble!” she muttered, staring ahead out the window.

The brakeless safari car was racing downhill toward a herd of elephants that was standing right in the middle of the one-lane road.