man said nothing.
“What’s your name?”
“Jacob.”
“How long you been tracking, Jacob?”
“I hunted with my grandfather from when I could walk.”
“You from around here?”
“My village is near the Zambezi. You can hear the drums at night.”
“You work with the lodge a long time?”
“More than twenty years, sir.”
Amal nodded. He’d brought his own tracker, but local knowledge was invaluable. He stopped in front of the man.
“Look at me.”
The man’s eyes lifted slowly, wide and white with fear. Sweat gleamed on his ebony skin.
“I want the woman who was with the guests. Do you know which woman I mean?”
“There was only one woman in the delegate party, sir.”
“Dalilah Al Arif—the princess. We came all the way from Zambia for her. But now—” he clicked his fingers under the old man’s nose “—she’s gone, like that! We’ve searched the lodge, the grounds, everywhere. How can a woman like her disappear, Jacob? Do you think she ran into the bush by herself, in those shoes? In that dress?”
Jacob said nothing.
“She had help, that’s what! My tracker found sign in the dry sand under the trees next to the lapa. A man was waiting there. A big man. Do you know who he was, Jacob?”
Sweat glistened down the old man’s face. “No.”
“Are you certain? Because you do know what happened to the lodge owners and the rest of the staff when they didn’t cooperate with us—they’re all dead.”
The old man swallowed. “I don’t know who this man is, sir.”
“But you’re the best tracker—you can help me find him.”
“Sir, I have a wife—”
Amal glanced at Mbogo. “We know.”
Sweat trickled down the old man’s brow and he began to shake.
“Now, listen to me carefully, Jacob,” Amal said, leaning forward. “You find this man and princess for us, and your wife will be safe. You’ll be my lead tracker. My own guy will work as your flanker. You’ll both go ahead of the horses and jeeps, understand?”
Thunder boomed overhead. The lights inside the thatched bungalow flickered and the masks on the wall seemed to come alive in the shadows. Outside, monkeys screamed.
But before the old tracker could answer, there was another sound right outside the door. A snarling and clacking of teeth—a human scream. Yelling. A thud. A whimper.
Jacob’s gaze shot to the door.
Through the door came one of Amal’s men, his arm dripping with blood. With him he dragged a reddish-brown dog by a rope tied tightly around its muzzle and neck. The dog frothed at the jowls and its tail was tucked in tight. Jacob went wire tense, his eyes narrowing.
“You know this dog, Jacob?”
“Jock. He’s the master’s dog. I’ve been using him to track game.”
A slow smile curved over Amal’s face.
“Kill it.”
“No!” barked Jacob.
All stilled. Pearls of sweat trickled down from Jacob’s sideburns, his face a sheen of perspiration.
“That...is a good dog. He can track. He’s fought a lion.”
“Are you lying to me, Jacob?”
“Jacob doesn’t lie, sir.”
“Give him the animal,” Amal said quietly to Mbogo while watching Jacob’s face. “You start now—use the dog.”
* * *
“Dalilah!” Brandt yelled as he ran through the rain. Lightning cracked overhead, sharply silhouetting baobab branches that clawed up to the sky. His mind twisted in on itself as he registered that she was sprawled over the leopard, not under it, her long wet hair trailing in the river of mud. Neither she nor the animal moved.
He dropped to his haunches at her side, fear choking him as he felt for a pulse. But as he touched her skin, she raised her head. Haunted eyes met his, mascara trailing a harlequin’s black tears down her cheeks.
“Brandt?”
“It’s okay, I’m here.”
“I killed her.” Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. “I shot her.”
He touched the animal. Its fur was warm.
“She was above me, in the branches, coming down, hissing...I shot her before
“What’s your name?”
“Jacob.”
“How long you been tracking, Jacob?”
“I hunted with my grandfather from when I could walk.”
“You from around here?”
“My village is near the Zambezi. You can hear the drums at night.”
“You work with the lodge a long time?”
“More than twenty years, sir.”
Amal nodded. He’d brought his own tracker, but local knowledge was invaluable. He stopped in front of the man.
“Look at me.”
The man’s eyes lifted slowly, wide and white with fear. Sweat gleamed on his ebony skin.
“I want the woman who was with the guests. Do you know which woman I mean?”
“There was only one woman in the delegate party, sir.”
“Dalilah Al Arif—the princess. We came all the way from Zambia for her. But now—” he clicked his fingers under the old man’s nose “—she’s gone, like that! We’ve searched the lodge, the grounds, everywhere. How can a woman like her disappear, Jacob? Do you think she ran into the bush by herself, in those shoes? In that dress?”
Jacob said nothing.
“She had help, that’s what! My tracker found sign in the dry sand under the trees next to the lapa. A man was waiting there. A big man. Do you know who he was, Jacob?”
Sweat glistened down the old man’s face. “No.”
“Are you certain? Because you do know what happened to the lodge owners and the rest of the staff when they didn’t cooperate with us—they’re all dead.”
The old man swallowed. “I don’t know who this man is, sir.”
“But you’re the best tracker—you can help me find him.”
“Sir, I have a wife—”
Amal glanced at Mbogo. “We know.”
Sweat trickled down the old man’s brow and he began to shake.
“Now, listen to me carefully, Jacob,” Amal said, leaning forward. “You find this man and princess for us, and your wife will be safe. You’ll be my lead tracker. My own guy will work as your flanker. You’ll both go ahead of the horses and jeeps, understand?”
Thunder boomed overhead. The lights inside the thatched bungalow flickered and the masks on the wall seemed to come alive in the shadows. Outside, monkeys screamed.
But before the old tracker could answer, there was another sound right outside the door. A snarling and clacking of teeth—a human scream. Yelling. A thud. A whimper.
Jacob’s gaze shot to the door.
Through the door came one of Amal’s men, his arm dripping with blood. With him he dragged a reddish-brown dog by a rope tied tightly around its muzzle and neck. The dog frothed at the jowls and its tail was tucked in tight. Jacob went wire tense, his eyes narrowing.
“You know this dog, Jacob?”
“Jock. He’s the master’s dog. I’ve been using him to track game.”
A slow smile curved over Amal’s face.
“Kill it.”
“No!” barked Jacob.
All stilled. Pearls of sweat trickled down from Jacob’s sideburns, his face a sheen of perspiration.
“That...is a good dog. He can track. He’s fought a lion.”
“Are you lying to me, Jacob?”
“Jacob doesn’t lie, sir.”
“Give him the animal,” Amal said quietly to Mbogo while watching Jacob’s face. “You start now—use the dog.”
* * *
“Dalilah!” Brandt yelled as he ran through the rain. Lightning cracked overhead, sharply silhouetting baobab branches that clawed up to the sky. His mind twisted in on itself as he registered that she was sprawled over the leopard, not under it, her long wet hair trailing in the river of mud. Neither she nor the animal moved.
He dropped to his haunches at her side, fear choking him as he felt for a pulse. But as he touched her skin, she raised her head. Haunted eyes met his, mascara trailing a harlequin’s black tears down her cheeks.
“Brandt?”
“It’s okay, I’m here.”
“I killed her.” Her voice came out in a cracked whisper. “I shot her.”
He touched the animal. Its fur was warm.
“She was above me, in the branches, coming down, hissing...I shot her before
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