by Mike Resnick
“Right,” answered Oliver.
“It’s just amazing that you’ve got wild game within sight of the city’s taller buildings.”
“It’s a lovely park,” said Oliver. “Better than forty square miles, yet it’s actually within the Nairobi city limits. I’ll show it to you when we have some time.”
“You’ll show it to her now,” said a deep voice from directly behind them. They both turned in surprise and the car almost swerved off the road.
A white-garbed Arab sat in the backseat, a pistol in each hand, pointing toward each of them.
“Remove your shoulder bag very carefully, Lara Croft. One false move and I will not hesitate to kill you both right now.”
Alone, she might have ducked and gone for her knife, but she knew if she did he’d put a bullet into Oliver’s head, so she slipped her bag off and passed it to the backseat.
“Thank you,” he said. “Don’t even think about looking for your Magnum. I have already appropriated it.”
“You weren’t in the car when we left the Ark,” said Oliver. “You must have entered it at the Horseman when we were eating.”
The man nodded his head. “It is well known that the Horseman is your favorite restaurant, Mr. Oliver. One of us has been posted there ever since Lara Croft arrived in Kenya. When you went inside I entered your vehicle and hid under the tents. Now we will enter the game park, and then I believe we can conclude our business.”
“If you’re going to kill us anyway, why should I drive into the park so you can do it with no witnesses?” said Oliver.
“Because like all other living things, you will do almost anything to extend your life another five minutes,” said the man with total confidence. “I know the guard at the Langata Gate is a friend of yours. You will not stop the car or pay a fee, because I do not want you speaking to anyone. Just wave to him as you drive up and then continue through. He will not understand why you didn’t stop, but he will not report you.”
Oliver did as he was ordered, and a few minutes later they were driving through the park. As they came to the area known as Hyrax Valley, the Arab ordered him to stop the car.
“Get out.”
Lara and Oliver got out of the car, followed by the Arab.
“Someone will hear the gunshots,” said Lara.
“What makes you think I’m going to shoot you?” asked the man with a grin.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re going to talk us to death?”
“You know, I have always despised liberated women,” he said. “You can’t imagine how glad I will be to cause the death of one.” He pointed to a small glade about two hundred yards away. “I have come here every day for a week. There is a pride of lions living in that glade, a huge black-maned male and four females. They are very hungry.”
“What makes you think so?” asked Lara.
“Because every time they have gone hunting for the past three days, I’ve used my car and my horn to frighten away their prey. They will emerge from hiding any moment and you will be the first thing they see.”
Lara glanced quickly at Oliver, who didn’t seem unduly concerned.
“Yes, Mr. Oliver, I know that lions are nocturnal hunters, and under ordinary circumstances they might not appear for hours. I also know that men are not their prey of choice.” He pulled a black plastic gun out of a pocket. “A child’s water gun, available in almost any toy store,” he announced. “But this one is filled not with water, but with the blood of a topi that I killed yesterday.” Keeping his distance, he squirted Lara and Oliver thoroughly. “Now as soon as the wind changes, I think we can expect some company.”
“You’re staying until then?” asked Lara.
“Why not?” responded the man. “After all, I don’t smell like a lion’s favorite dinner. Besides, once they begin approaching, I’ll watch from inside the car.”
They stood motionless in the morning sun for another ten minutes.
“It won’t be long now,” said the Arab. “The breeze has just shifted.”
“You’re right about that,” said Oliver, looking just past the man. “It won’t be long now.”
The Arab turned to see what Oliver was staring at and found himself facing a two-ton black rhino from a distance of about fifty yards. He aimed his pistol at the rhino and fired two quick shots. Both missed.
The rhino trotted forward, looking agitated. The Arab shot again at thirty yards. This time they could see the dust rise where the bullet had hit on the beast’s massive chest, but it didn’t seem to do him any harm. He began trotting toward the Arab, who got off one more shot. Then his nerve broke, and he turned and raced away.
The rhino snorted, increased his pace, and lowered his head as he charged. His horn caught the Arab in the middle of the back, and he hurled him high into the air. The man fell heavily to the ground and lay still. The rhino trotted back to him and gored him a few times with his horn, then seemed to see Lara and Oliver for the first time. He trotted off at an angle, then stopped, turned, snorted again, and pawed the earth. Two more mock charges followed; both times he stopped well short of them.
“He’s getting ready to charge in earnest,” said Oliver softly.
“What do we do?” asked Lara.
“Get out of his way.”
“Have you got any more useful advice?” she said irritably.
“That’s not a joke,” said Oliver. “This is a lot better than having an elephant mad at you. Remember you told me how you dodged a truck back in Khartoum? Trust me—if you can dodge a truck, you can dodge a rhino.”
“Our Arab friend didn’t have much luck,” she noted.
“He was a fool.”
“I’m not a fool, I’m just ignorant,” said Lara as the rhino trotted in a little semicircle to observe them from a new angle. “Tell me what the Arab didn’t know.”
“It just takes nerve, and you’ve always had an abundance of that,” said Oliver. “If you try to get away when he starts running toward you, the same thing that happened to the Arab will happen to you. But if you can stand your ground until he’s ten yards away and lowers his head to impale you on his horn, you can evade him. A rhino is blind once he lowers his head to charge; all he can see is a few inches of grass. If you can sidestep a truck, you can sidestep a rhino.”
“You’d better be right,” she said tensely as the rhino began snorting again. “I think he’s about to start.”
The rhino raced toward her. She stood motionless, waiting for him to lower his head—but he didn’t. Instead he veered off to the left at the last instant and ran another fifty yards before he stopped and turned back to her.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“He knows he’s blind when he charges,” said Oliver, “so he was trying to scare you into running. Watch yourself. Here he comes again!”
Lara watched as the huge beast moved from a trot to a gallop to a dead run. Now he was forty yards away, now twenty, now ten, and finally he lowered his head and she saw the huge horn reach out for her. She took two quick steps to her left—and the rhino continued his charge, not slowing down until he was another forty yards past her.
“I’ll be damned!” she exclaimed. “You were right!”
The rhino continued running in a straight direction. He stopped about one hundred yards away and began browsing on some bushes as if nothing had happened.
“He thinks he tossed you,” said Oliver. “Otherwise he’d come back and try again.” He paused. “They’re not very bright animals; that’s why they’re so easy to poach. Before we get on the plane I’ll tell the game department that he’s walking around with a slug in his chest. I don’t think it did him any damage, but he’s going to be in a bad mood for the next few days.”
“He’s not the only one,” said Lara. “I’m getting sick and tired of people trying to kill me.”
“Uh . . . it’s not just people,” said Oliver suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“The
wind was changing when the rhino interrupted us,” he said.
She turned toward the glade and saw three lionesses starting to approach them.
“I thought the Mahdist said there were four of them,” said Lara.
“There are.”
Oliver pointed to the roof of the car, where the fourth lioness perched, observing them like a housecat observing a mouse that she was about to have a little fun with.
30
“Don’t run,” said Oliver softly. “Lions are pretty conservative animals. These have never attacked men before. They may think twice about it.”
“How do you know they’ve never attacked anyone?”
“As I told you, the Nairobi Park is within the city limits,” he said. “If they’d killed anyone, the game department would have shot them.”
Suddenly an idea occurred to Lara. “What will happen if I walk very slowly?”
“To the car?” he asked. “The old girl on the roof will probably pounce on you if you get too close and she feels threatened.”
“No,” said Lara. “To the Arab’s body.”
“Probably nothing,” said Oliver. “But if I’m wrong, you’ll have less than three seconds before the closest of them is on top of you.”
“It’s worth a try,” she said. “Don’t forget: They’re hungry and we’re covered with topi blood. They’re not going to stand back and just watch us all day.”
She took a step, then a second and a third. The lead lioness stopped and stared at her curiously.
Two more steps and she was next to the Arab’s corpse. She knelt down very slowly, never taking her eyes off the lions, felt around under the man’s body, and finally found what she was looking for.
She straightened up very slowly with Oliver’s Magnum in her hand.
“It’s got too strong a kick for you,” said Oliver. “And even if you landed a lucky shot and killed the first one, the other three will be on you before you can take aim again.”
“I’m not going to shoot them,” said Lara as two of the lionesses began approaching cautiously. Suddenly the lioness atop the car jumped lightly to the ground, no more than twenty-five yards away.
“Then what did you get the guns for?”
“Quiet,” she said. “I’ve got to concentrate.”
She turned, lifted the Magnum in both hands, held it in front of her, and took aim at the rhino, who knew that the lions wouldn’t bother him and was eating peacefully a hundred yards away.
“I can’t kill him from this distance, can I?”
“No,” answered Oliver. “But you can annoy the hell out of him.”
“Good!” said Lara, squeezing the trigger.
The lions jumped and roared at the sound. She saw a puff of dust rise from the rhino’s flanks, and it began galloping straight at her. She stood her ground as the huge creature came closer and closer. The lions, not knowing that the rhino was charging Lara rather than them, broke and ran for cover.
Lara yelled at the rhino to make sure he didn’t turn away and give the lions a chance to regroup. He snorted, lowered his head, and increased his speed—and she sidestepped him like the bullfighters she had seen in the arena at Madrid and Barcelona. As he had done before, he kept running, and this time he disappeared over a nearby ridge.
Lara and Oliver raced to the car, and were safely inside it before the lions broke cover and began returning. Oliver put his key in the ignition and drove off. Lara’s last sight of the lions was as they were cautiously approaching the dead Arab, determined to eat something this morning.
“That was quick thinking,” said Oliver. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me in the safari business?”
“Some other lifetime,” she replied. “I just want to get to the Seychelles.”
“We’ll get there, never fear.”
They drove to the Langata Gate, where Oliver stopped the car and approached the guard’s station. He spent a few moments talking, then returned to the car and drove out of the park.
“All right,” said Oliver. “I smoothed things over with him and fed him a fable about how we were hot on the trail of a notorious poacher. We even took a couple of shots at him, but he escaped, which at least explains the gunshots if anyone asks about them.”
“And the dead Arab?”
“The lions won’t leave much, and the scavengers will take care of the rest. There won’t be a trace of him by tomorrow.”
Suddenly he pulled off the road and stopped at a small dry goods store.
“Why are we stopping here?” asked Lara as they pulled up to the door.
“We’re covered with blood, remember?” said Oliver. “There aren’t any carnivores at the airport or on the plane, but we’re not going to be too fragrant.”
“You know, I’d completely forgotten,” said Lara, getting out of the car and joining him as he entered the store.
They each bought a khaki outfit, his rather nondescript, hers more elegant and form-fitting, and after another five minutes they pulled into the lot at the Wilson Airport.
“It looks bustling,” Lara remarked as a plane touched down and another took off a few seconds later.
“Almost all the in-country flights take off and land here,” replied Oliver as they walked to the entrance. “There are scheduled flights to the Mara, Samburu, Lamu, half a dozen other locations. And dozens of charters leave here every day.”
“So where’s our pilot?” she asked, looking around as they entered the small airport.
“Beats me,” said Oliver. “We didn’t have a set time—just late morning. These arrangements are always very informal.”
“What do we do now?”
“We wait where he’s most likely to look for us.”
He took her to a small bar and restaurant at the far end of the building.
“This is called the Dambusters 77 Club,” he informed her as they sat at a leather booth. “It’s ostensibly for members only, but anyone can buy a one-day membership.”
She noticed a number of men sitting at the bar, most of them wearing leather jackets despite the heat. “I assume those guys are all pilots?” she said.
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s the uniform, all right. This is their hangout. If our guy doesn’t show up soon I’ll see if we can hire one of them.”
He didn’t have to worry. A tall, slender man approached them a few minutes later and introduced himself as Milo Jacobi. They could tell from his accent that he was American.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I just brought a couple back from the Ngorongoro Crater over in Tanzania. I’ve got more than enough fuel to reach Mombasa, so we can leave whenever you’re ready. Once we refuel on the coast, it’s a straight shot to the islands. The Seychelles are about a thousand miles east of the coast, and we’ll make about two hundred miles an hour, so figure on a five-hour flight from Mombasa—and we’ll get to Mombasa in about an hour and a half. I’ve stashed some sandwiches in the plane for you in case you get hungry, and a few soft drinks.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Lara. “Let’s go.”
He led them out to the airfield, and soon was standing beside his plane.
“It’s a five-seater,” he said, “so you can both sit in back, or one of you can sit up front with me.”
“I’ll take the back,” said Lara.
“Me, too,” said Oliver. “I don’t mind flying, but I hate looking out the front window—when you see clouds zigzagging right and left you suddenly realize just how much the wind knocks you around.”
Jacobi laughed in amusement. “All right, the backseat it is. Do you have any luggage?”
“Just my shoulder bag,” answered Lara. “We’ll buy whatever we need when we get there.”
If Jacobi found that curious he didn’t say so, and a couple of minutes later they raced down the runway and were soon aloft and heading east.
Lara leaned back, relaxed, and looked out the window at the clear blue African sky.
They touched down in Mombasa, refu
eled, and headed off to the Seychelles.
It was when they had traveled perhaps one hundred miles over the Indian Ocean and were cruising at about 7,500 feet that Jacobi lowered his head and began whispering to himself.
“What are you doing?” asked Lara curiously.
“Praying,” he said. Suddenly he reached over to the control panel and killed the engines.
“What the hell have you done?” demanded Oliver, leaning forward.
“I have done what so many others have failed to do,” he answered. “I have killed Lara Croft.”
“You’ve killed us all!” shouted Oliver.
“Better death than a world ruled by the Mahdi,” said Jacobi serenely.
Lara flung herself over the top of the copilot’s seat and tried to restart the engines. Jacobi took a swing at her, catching her a glancing blow on the jaw.
She pulled the Scalpel of Isis from her boot and slashed him across the throat. His scream turned into a moist gurgle. She didn’t even look at him as she worked the controls.
“Jettison him!” she ordered Oliver.
“The door’s on the far side.”
“Then lower his window and shove him out. We’re losing altitude! We’ve got to make the plane lighter and buy some time, even a few seconds, while I try to restart the engines!”
Oliver spent about thirty seconds getting the window open, and the plane almost flipped over with the change of pressure, but Lara got the wings level again and Oliver managed to slide the dead pilot’s body through the window, where it plunged some 3,800 feet into the ocean.
“Can I help?” asked Oliver.
“Do you know how to fly a plane?”
“No.”
“Then you can’t help,” she said.
“How soon before we crash?”
“If this was a 747, we’d have about five seconds . . . but it’s a small plane, relatively light. Even with the motor off and losing altitude, I can probably glide for about three more minutes before we hit the water.”
Oliver sat perfectly still and kept quiet, not wanting to distract her. The altimeter showed them dropping to 2,800 feet, then 2,500, then 2,000. At 1,500 he thought he heard the engines trying to catch, but the plane continued to fall. At 800 feet he heard the sound again, longer this time, before it vanished.
