The Seventh Plague

by James Rollins

  “Ah,” the guide said, “that is my navigator. His name is Roho, which means ghost in Swahili.”

  The name certainly fit the beast. The lion’s coat was a tawny white, his eyes a rich amber. The mutation that produced white lions was not albinism but a rarer genetic trait called leucism, which resulted in only a partial loss of pigmentation.

  Noah scratched his partner’s neck, earning a rumble that served as the equivalent of a feline purr. “He’s just a cub.”

  “That’s a cub?” Kowalski asked.

  Gray understood the man’s shock. The cat had to weigh over a hundred pounds.

  “He is indeed,” Noah said. When the man spoke English, his words took on a slight British accent. “His first birthday is next month. So hopefully he’ll soon grow into this.”

  Noah tussled a mohawk of brighter white fur that ran from the crown of the cub’s head and down his neck. “As you see, his mane is still immature. In fact, he’s not even learned to roar yet. He won’t do that for a few more months.”

  Roho growled, pretending to bite at his hand, as if insulted.

  Jane looked like she wanted to go pet him. “How did you acquire him?”

  Noah’s face grew more serious, glancing across the lake to the breadth of the park. “Two years ago, seven Transvaal lions were reintroduced to our park, in an attempt to restore a population that’s been gone from these lands for decades. With the addition of the lions—and perhaps one day, black rhinos—Akagera may soon return to its full glory.”

  He turned to them, his face wistful with hope.

  “And Roho?” Jane pressed.

  “Oh, yes, one of our new lionesses was pregnant when she arrived. She gave birth to three cubs, one of them Roho. Since survival rates are poor for cubs in the wild, we culled him from her litter to give the other two cubs a better chance of surviving, but also because we feared poachers might hunt him for the color of his pelt. And as indiscriminate as such men are, Roho’s presence risked the lives of the entire new pride.”

  “So you kept him.”

  “To train him. The hope is still to release him, when he’s older and better able to fend for himself. He’s now of the age when his mother usually begins teaching him to hunt, so I take him whenever I can.”

  Gray glanced to the sun as it sat lower over the lake. “We should be going. I want to be at the site we mapped before sunset.”

  Noah climbed from the boat to the deck. “Show me. I was told basically where you wanted to go, but perhaps I could offer further guidance.”

  Roho followed him with a single leap, plainly ready to do the same.

  “He’s friendly,” Noah assured everyone while crossing to the maps strewn on the table.

  Gray joined the guide, while the others took the opportunity to meet Roho.

  “This is where we were thinking of going.” Gray pointed to a region to the north that most closely corresponded to the X marked on Livingstone’s map.

  Noah studied the chart while inhaling deeply. “May I ask, why there?”

  “Is it a problem?”

  “Compared to other places in Africa, Akagera sees few visitors. When I lead a safari, I am often the only one out there. And that’s in the southern end of the park. Up north, no one goes there. Not really.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone go there?”

  “Difficult terrain. Mountainous, thick jungles. It’s as untouched as you’ll find in Africa. Many believe those dense forests are haunted. Even rebels and poachers don’t go there.”

  Gray looked at his amphibious boat. “But can that get us there?”

  “To the edge, certainly. Beyond that . . .” The man shrugged. “But again, why there? What are you seeking?”

  Gray frowned. “Elephants.”

  Noah’s eyes widened, looking relieved. “Oh, that is easy then. No need to go all the way up there. I can show you many elephants. Much closer. Here in the south.”

  “And what about in the north?” Gray stared at the map. “Are there any elephants up there?”

  Noah considered his question. “Not yet. While the park has had good success at reestablishing an elephant herd here—we have over ninety now—they mostly stay in the south. Even they don’t like to venture into the northern jungles, preferring the savannas and marshlands.”

  Gray took stock of what he had just said. “What do you mean by reestablishing the park’s herd?”

  “Like with the reintroduction of the lions, elephants were added back to the park in 1975.”

  “What happened to the original herds?”

  He shrugged again. “Poachers, big-game hunters. All I know is that the indigenous elephants vanished some sixty years ago.”

  Vanished?

  Gray’s stomach sank with despair. If there was some cure to be found here, was it already gone?

  Are we decades too late?

  Noah shook his head. “When I first came here as a young man, some of the older guides would talk of the park’s former glory. There had been many herds back then, even shy forest elephants who roamed those northern mountain jungles. No longer, but hopefully, those times will return.”

  “But can you be sure?” Gray asked.

  “Of those times returning?”

  “No, of those forest elephants being gone.” Gray looked at the spot on the map. “You said those mountains are rarely traveled, even avoided. If the elephants were truly that shy, maybe a few of them are still up there.”

  Noah looked skeptical.

  Gray straightened, eyeing the sun. “What’s the harm in looking?”

  5:31 P.M.

  Jane sat with Derek in the middle of Noah’s amphibious ark.

  Ahead of them, Gray murmured with the ship’s captain, while Seichan crouched at the point of the bow, her gaze alert for any threat ahead. Kowalski did the same in the back, sprawled in the stern, his shotgun across his knees.

  Jane did her best to ignore the peril.

  Instead, she stared at the beauty around her, enjoying the tropical weather after the searing heat of the Sudan.

  All around, the flat waters of Lake Ihema mirrored the blue sky, marred only by the boat’s wake, which dappled the last rays of the sun across the water. It looked like they had the vast lake all to themselves.

  But she knew that wasn’t true. Though they might be the only boat, the lake teemed with life. Hippos bobbed along the shoreline as their craft plied past their roosting spots, sometimes opening their massive jaws in territorial displays of threat. Elsewhere, hidden in the papyrus, the long black logs of crocodiles were reminders that swimming these waters was a sport only for the most foolhardy. A few brave creatures took that risk, but those lumbering adult Cape water buffaloes had little to fear.

  She gazed out at the flocks of crowned cranes and open-billed storks working the shallows. They weren’t the only hunters of the lake. An African fish eagle dove down, snagged something wiggling and silver, and shot back skyward. Thousands of other birds flitted and darted, too quick to identify, too numerous to even try.

  Out in the surrounding marshes and grasses, life spread far and wide. Herds of klipspringer antelope grazed alongside impalas and zebra. In the distance, the stately bob of giraffe necks moved through a savanna, like the masts of tall ships.

  With the sun sunk to the horizon, shadows stretched everywhere, adding dark brushstrokes across the meadows and hills.

  Jane sighed, knowing how easy it would be to be lulled into the pace of this land, but they still had much to do.

  A sharp slap reminded her of this.

  Derek rubbed his arm, leaving a tiny smear of blood from whatever had bit him. Throughout this region, it was those same bloodsuckers that spread disease and death: West Nile, dengue and yellow fever, even Zika, which originated in a Ugandan monkey. She had also learned that those same pathogens were all flaviviruses. Same as the virus harboring inside the microbe they hunted, a genetic Trojan horse capable of killing male offspring.

  So maybe it’s n
o surprise we ended up here.

  As she dwelled on this fact, the wonder of the park faded.

  She sank back into her seat. Derek followed her. She took his arm and pulled it over her shoulders, wanting to feel his solidness. She nestled into him.

  Derek must have sensed her dismay and tried to combat it. “I keep imagining the likes of David Livingstone and his fellow explorers, trudging through these swamps, battling the elements, wild animals, not to mention”—he lifted his bitten arm—“the smallest of predators.”

  He craned around. “Livingstone likely searched this very region. We know Stanley famously found the good doctor languishing in a village along the shores of Lake Tanganyika, which lies only a hundred miles away. And while Stanley returned home, Livingstone remained to continue his quest for the source of the Nile. His explorations might have very well led him here.”

  “As I recall, it was along those same shores where a tribesman gave him his talisman.”

  He nodded. “The same tribe honored him later, burying his heart under a local plum tree.”

  “Then mummified him,” she added sourly, thinking of her father’s fate.

  “Out of respect. They packed his remains in salt and shipped him home in a coffin made of bark. He’s now buried in Westminster Abbey.”

  “But was it worth it? He gave his life to add a few lines to a map.”

  “Perhaps, but he also helped many of the natives here, fighting against slavers, teaching them. And besides, even if he never did any of that, the pursuit of knowledge is never for naught. Each line drawn on a map gets us closer to understanding the world and our place in it.”

  She rewarded him with a small smile. “You, Dr. Rankin, are a better person than I.”

  He drew her closer. “I’m not about to dispute that.”

  By now they had reached the end of the lake and entered the labyrinth of lakes, rolling hills, and swamps that separated them from the low mountains darkening the horizon. The terrain here proved the utility of their unique mode of transportation. No matter the challenge—deep water, slippery mud, sinking sand, or tall grass—Noah’s amphibious ark forged on.

  Still, not everyone was content.

  A growled complaint rose behind Jane. “Why does he keep licking me?”

  She turned to find Roho nosing the big guy, smearing a long wet tongue across his cheek. Kowalski pushed him away.

  Seichan commented from the bow. “He’s tasting you, Kowalski. Seeing if you’re worth eating.”

  Noah gave her a scolding look. “It’s just the salt from your sweat.”

  This information failed to calm the man. “So he is tasting me.”

  Jane turned back around and nestled deeper next to Derek. “What was that about knowledge always being a good thing?”

  5:55 P.M.

  Valya wanted as much intel as possible before acting.

  Seated in the copilot seat, she ordered the Cessna to bank wide again, to keep its reflection off the wide lake below. In the back cabin, Kruger had the side cargo door slid open. One hand clutched a grip against the wind, the other held a pair of binoculars. He watched their targets progress across a landscape of lakes, marshes, and grasslands, likely recalling his teammates killed by those below.

  She was tempted to order the Cessna to dive down, to fire one or both of their Hellfire missiles at the amphibious craft. But while that would certainly annihilate them, it would fail to be fully satisfying. She absently rubbed the hilt of her grandmother’s athamé.

  No, not nearly satisfying enough.

  Plus there was a practical reason. She and Kruger had decided to follow the others, see where they might lead. And if the situation presented itself, they would grab whatever prize might be hidden down there for themselves.

  To sell to the highest bidder.

  Best of all, she knew someone who had a personal stake in all of this and who had very deep pockets. It was time to turn that to her advantage.

  To hell with Simon Hartnell—and my brother.

  With the decision made, she intended not to fail, which meant heeding the instructions of her former masters in the Guild: to be patient and wait for her moment. All the failure up until now was due to her moving too hastily, acting upon her baser emotions of revenge. She needed to be cold and calculating.

  Like her quarry.

  She pictured Seichan’s face.

  “Sun’s about to set!” Kruger called up to her.

  She twisted in her seat, eyeing the Raven UAV sharing the cabin with Kruger and his three men. “Wait until it’s fully dark before launching.”

  The plan was to hold off until nightfall and send the drone to continue the hunt by air, using its thermal and low-light optics to continue tracking their prey. She could not risk the bird being spotted during the day. Once it was aloft, they would refuel and maintain a high-altitude vigil, waiting for their moment. When that came, they would sweep low. Kruger and his men would bail out in base-jumping gear to secure the area. She would follow in a more conventional chute. The pilot would circle and wait for their command to unleash his missiles, which guided by a fire-and-forget radar system would clean up behind them.

  Alternatively, if it looked like their targets had failed in their search, then her team would go with the missiles first. Though such a scheme was far from satisfying or profitable, it would get the job done.

  Still, she preferred the first plan.

  So she stared below and wished the others the best of luck.

  6:35 P.M.

  Now I understand what Noah meant.

  The dark forest ahead looked impenetrable. Their vehicle had climbed out of the swamps and savannas forty minutes ago, just as the sun was beginning to set. The northern mountains rose like broken fangs, cutting across the world. The very tops were exposed granite, but the rest was dense jungle. It looked trackless and forbidding.

  Still, Jane and Derek had plotted their best approach into the mountains, using hydrological and topographical maps of the park. They believed a river flowing out of the mountains and winding across the plains might be the small extension off the Kagera seen on Livingstone’s sketch ending at an X.

  Or so they all hoped.

  With no other good choice, they set off into the mountains, following along the river. Though more times than not, Noah simply rode up the stream, fighting the current, sometimes afloat, sometimes climbing over boulders.

  By now they were all drenched from water splashing over the gunwales. It was hard to say who was grouchier about this development, Kowalski or Roho. Both complained just as miserably. It also didn’t help that the temperature had dropped rapidly as night fell.

  Two beams of light led the way deeper, but eventually Noah’s ark reached a sheer waterfall. It blocked the way forward as the river tumbled down over a series of small cliffs ahead of them.

  Gray stood and looked at the top of the cascade. The forest appeared even thicker up there.

  Noah joined him. “End of the road. From here, the only way forward is on foot.”

  Gray glanced to the others, judging their fortitude to continue.

  Jane must have realized what he was doing and climbed up. “We’ve come this far, what’s a little hike through the woods?”

  Derek looked less convinced, but nodded, heaving to his feet.

  Noah accepted their decision, slinging a rifle over one shoulder and pack over the other. He whistled and Roho bounded from where he had been lounging with Kowalski, shaking his wet fur. Noah fixed a red collar with a black weight hanging from it around the cat’s neck.

  Roho accepted the attention begrudgingly, swishing his tail.

  “Shock collar,” Noah explained.

  Jane looked concern. “Isn’t that cruel?”

  “Necessary. Despite appearances, he’s still a baby. Which means he can easily get distracted and just as easily hurt. I need to be able to get his attention. But don’t worry.” He pulled what looked like a small beeper from his pocket. “I can co
ntrol the level of shock. From one to ten. I seldom have to go to three, and one and two are really no more than a tap on his shoulder, telling him listen up, buddy.”

  Once outfitted, Roho rubbed his head against Noah’s thigh.

  “Yes, that’s right. You’re a good boy.”

  Seichan sidled past Gray on her way off the boat. “Can we get one of those for Kowalski?”

  “I heard that,” the big man said, following her.

  “You were supposed to.” She hopped over the gunwale, landed on the riverbank, and headed for the jumble of cliffs.

  Everyone offloaded and followed.

  Gray had bought a new set of caving helmets after their earlier adventure and passed them around. He didn’t know what they might encounter out here, but considering how dark it was under the forest canopy, they might as well be underground.

  Lamps clicked on in the dark, and the group set off to tackle the cliffs.

  The climb alongside the cataract was not as arduous as it first appeared, especially working as a team. Using vines, roots, crevices, they worked step by step up the series of cliffs, helping one another when necessary. Only Roho managed the ascent without any assistance.

  Three-quarters of the way up, Gray hauled himself onto a ledge after a rather precarious section. Jane puffed heavily, and Derek’s face was flushed. Recognizing this, he called for a short break. Their perch was five or six stories above their abandoned vehicle.

  “Good job,” he told Jane.

  She nodded, too winded to speak.

  Noah looked like he could go for hours. He pointed to the far side of the waterfall. “Apparently we’re tonight’s entertainment.”

  Gray turned and spotted a troop of small apes squatted on a tumble of rocks over there. Some carried tiny babies on their backs.

  “Papio anubis,” Noah said. “The olive baboon.”

  “Should we be worried?”

  “No. If you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. They’re just curious. It’s the vervets you have to watch out for.” He looked to the branches overhanging their perch. “Those little monkeys will pelt you with nuts . . . and sometimes worse.”

  Jane finally regained the power of speech. “The baboons don’t seem bothered by us being here at all.”