Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats

by Stuart Parker

  *

  There were no numbers on the rusted old iron weightlifting plates but it was clear they were heavy. The bar they were piled onto was ever so slightly bending under the strain. And John Leroy Scope’s heavily veined muscles were bulging as they pressed them above his chest. His confidence had to be admired, for potential spotters were scarce on the ground in this remote part of the Florida Everglades, and if the bar had collapsed onto his chest there would have been little hope of wriggling out from under it. Despite that, Scope went for one more rep, even though his arms were twitching and the bar wasn’t going down as straight as it had on rep one.

  McRaven couldn’t help but edge a little closer as a precaution. He refrained, however, from announcing his presence in case the sudden emergence of an intruder on his property distracted him from his set – his was not the voice Scope wanted to hear with 200 kilograms perched above his head. McRaven contented himself with quietly looking on and soaking up a little more of the peaceful view across the bayou. It was the kind of view that even if there was not another soul within screaming distance, it was impossible to feel alone.

  Scope snorted wildly as he got the weights up one last time and let them crash down onto the bench-press holders.

  McRaven clapped as he stepped forward. ‘Like your work big guy. You might have held something back if you knew you had me to contend with.’

  Scope sprung upright on the weights bench. He was a mid-thirties man with a hard, strong body and a world weary look in his pale grey eyes. His beard was new and it suited him. The air of danger was well familiar.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plenty left in the tank for the likes you.’

  McRaven shrugged. ‘I like your place. Is this what you were fighting for all those years?’

  ‘Before you get all misty eyed, I’m only renting.’

  ‘I haven’t been keeping track of your financial position, only your location, in case I needed you for a job.’

  ‘Well, that’s a waist of time considering I’ve quit.’

  ‘Quit to become a crocodile hunter. It’s not as though you turned to religion.’

  ‘What’s the job?’

  ‘It’s still the same business, extraction.’

  Scope grabbed the towel on the pier at his feet and wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘I’ve moved on. Now I extract crocodiles, not people.’

  ‘And from what I hear, business is good. Not that I’ve been hearing it from you.’

  ‘The distance I’ve been keeping is only because I’ve been hoping to delay this moment for as long as possible.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ snapped McRaven. ‘You’re out here wrestling crocodiles, so don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve.’

  ‘Don’t confuse getting low down and dirty with reptiles in mangroves as being in any way war-ready.’

  ‘I haven’t come all this way to nag. Some mercenaries quit for good and some merely take a break. Here’s your chance to tell me which kind you are.’

  Scope threw down his towel onto the ground, which looked to McRaven very much like an act of surrender.

  ‘Must be a special job to have you come all this way not to beg,’ said Scope.

  ‘Asylum City. The target is classified.’

  ‘You’d better unclassify it if you want me involved.’

  ‘The Meltman. We’re going to have a bead on him.’

  ‘I didn’t think he ever came above ground.’

  McRaven smirked. ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘So that’s why you’re here.’

  ‘One of our biggest targets ever and we could certainly use you. But the rest of the details really are classified. If you want in, we’re going into Standby One mode above Asylum City. We’re taking the Mach 99 Ultra Speed Jet.’

  ‘How did you come here? I didn’t hear a thing.’

  ‘Magno-chopper. I landed out of earshot in case you had some ducks I might scare.’

  ‘You mean because I might have shot you down.’

  ‘Is it going to be like that?’

  Scope stood up to be head and shoulders over McRaven. ‘No, it isn’t going to be like that. The gators in these parts live up to a hundred years old, so they can wait while I go clean the Asylum City swamp of the greatest reptile of them all. If he’s the target, then I’m in.’

  McRaven nodded. ‘I shouldn’t have waited before you agreed to admit we haven’t had done to do our usual preparation for a job as big as this. We’re not even being paid all that much by the source.’

  ‘Is it the CIA again?’ queried Scope warily.

  ‘No, the United Nations. More specifically, the Hurt World Agency.’

  Scope shrugged. ‘Okay, I don’t think I mind them.’

  ‘The job comes from Renaissance herself. She seems to think it’s the biggest thing they’ve done in years.’

  ‘Which level is it?’

  One.’

  ‘The animal section? The Meltman has killed a lot of people in his time but I didn’t think he even owned a pet.’

  ‘Renaissance didn’t take the time to explain it to me. Before this job, she had a team working on a poacher and a signature dog. But that didn’t come to anything and I can’t see any connection there.’

  ‘If the poacher is bad news, there might be a connection. Speaking of poachers, are there any international laws against turning gators into boots? I wouldn’t want to add myself to the arrest sheet for lack of asking.’

  McRaven laughed. ‘Fair question. The perk of working for the Hurt World is that we get diplomatic immunity, even if we are not being particularly diplomatic in our methods.’

  ‘In that case – ' Scope pulled from under the weights bench a pair of boots, the gator skin glistening in the mid-afternoon sunshine. ‘It’s what’s left of the first gator I ever had a moment with.’

  ‘Lucky boots?

  ‘Not to mention comfortable as damned heck.’

  ‘That’s the reason I’ve got to have you along. Mad as a rabid fruit bat.’

  ‘Fine. Now shut up while I put my boots on.’

  It didn’t take long – the runners were off and the boots were on. ‘Alright,’ said Scope. ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Isn’t there someone you want to say goodbye to first?’ queried McRaven grimly. ‘I ain’t pretending this is just another day on the job.’

  ‘You mean I mightn’t come back?’ snapped Scope sardonically. ‘Then you’re right, there are some folks I should say goodbye to.’ He strode to the edge of the pier and screamed out across the bayou, ‘So long, you damned gators! Thanks for the boots!’ He turned back to McRaven. ‘I don’t think they’re going to miss me.’

  17 Wildlife preserve

  Electro-copters had been relegated to museum pieces in most of the world, but in the Congo at least they were still being flown for real. Kaptu gazed out the cockpit window at the vast tracts of dull brown savannah. Coming from Asylum City with its strictly enforced no-fly zones, any kind of flying was still a novelty. But this was certainly the first time Kaptu had experienced a contest between machine and gravity in which the outcome seemed no better than fifty-fifty. His hands were gripping the seat tightly.

  The pilot was Lieutenant Sandra Clorvine of the Congolese National Rangers. She was thirty years old and attractive with silky brown skin and long hair streaked with yellow and red. Her uniform was dull green brightened by gold badges and insignias. Her inherent calmness gave Kaptu the impression he was in good hands as the electro-copter bucked and kicked through the hot grey cloud.

  ‘There is a lot of clear sky out there if you care to look for it,’ Kaptu murmured as he bounced in his seat.

  ‘We’re entering La Pack’s swath of Africa now and I’d rather she didn’t know about it,’ replied Clorvine in her broad Swahili twang.

  ‘Is she that dangerous?’

  ‘She’s rich, successful and legitimate, which in the Congo means she’s t
he type that will kill you in a heartbeat.’

  Kaptu gazed through Xray-real binoculars at the grasslands that were like nothing he had ever seen before - Europe had been big but Africa was vast. The Africans he knew in Asylum City were without fail quick to act and fast when they did, so he knew there must be something about this land to be reckoned with. The first evidence of a human presence for many miles was a tall, barbed wire fence and beyond that were steel cages of varying sizes. Some of the cages were empty but most contained animals. The giraffes were easiest to see as they were peering over the top of theirs. In other cages there were monkeys, gazelles, lions and cheetahs.’

  ‘It looks like a zoo?’ murmured Kaptu. ‘Perhaps we can just buy a ticket.’

  ‘Its official title is the La Pack Private Wildlife Preserve. It supplies zoos around the world. That is the legitimate face of it. Unfortunately people have paid with their lives trying to gain entry, so I don’t think buying a ticket is going to be an option.’ Clorvine worked the joystick, gaining height and hovered just outside its airspace. ‘This is as far as we go.’

  ‘Okay, fair enough for now. But I eventually need to go all the way in.’

  ‘Then you better know how they died.’

  ‘I was just about to ask.’

  ‘Mauling and snake bites. Never any witnesses, just bodies in the jungle.’

  ‘Any direct connections with La Pack?’

  ‘No. She is too clever for that. And besides, in these parts a natural death is easy to accommodate. Still, such occurrences are relatively infrequent. It helps that the surviving inspectors no longer question her quota requests or demand access to her facilities. It has become a very harmonious arrangement, for they are well paid not to do those things.’ There was a change in her voice. ‘I suspect some of that harmony is about to end.’

  Kaptu realised she was glaring at him. He wondered if he could really trust her. He was too far removed from Hurt World HQ to know how closely they screened their liaison people. He glanced at his wrist communicator to see the face was still glowing red. When it turned green that would be Natalie’s signal she had marked the Meltman and he would have to leave Africa without delay. So, he would have to take his chances.

  ‘Snake bites, you say?’ he queried. ‘Does she have a breeding licence?’

  ‘Sure. Zoos love snakes. And if they’re not big, they better be poisonous. I bet there’s a whole pit teeming with them somewhere down there.’

  ‘So who gets her animals for her? Professional hunters?’

  ‘There would be a list on file somewhere.’

  ‘With one of those very cooperative inspectors?’

  ‘Is there someone in particular you are interested in?’

  ‘A poacher named Mas.

  ‘I knew it,’ barked Clorvine. ‘Your people were here a couple of years ago looking for her - a Hurt World One technician just like you. Said he was in charge of Africa. It seemed a big statement.’

  ‘Did he look at the La Pack ranch in particular?’

  ‘He looked everywhere and nowhere. If you ask me, it was mostly nowhere. Still, he wasn’t the only one looking for her back then. The reward money was still fresh and people hadn’t yet realised the occupation was just another way to die young in Africa. Perhaps you should talk to him yourself. I hear he is living in Zimbabwe, though no longer as a Hurt World technician. Lost a leg in a bombing and that’s against company rules.’

  Kaptu returned to his binoculars, carefully surveying the wildlife preserve’s layout, starting with the security towers and tracing a path through the cages to the main building, which was a grey fibrocarbon-panelled dome on stilts.

  ‘Alright,’ he said, ‘let’s go back.’

  ‘Back to base or have you gotten smart enough to be referring to the airport?’

  ‘Base. And I’ll be going in tonight. If you’ve got any ideas on how to breach security, I’ll be happy to hear them.’

  Clorvine maneuvered the electro-copter into a fast turn back towards the mountain range from which they had just come. ‘My main piece of advice is don’t ask anyone else in this country that question. It is very hard to know who is actively saving for an early retirement. The fact that I have not been approached with bribes only indicates that enough people who matter already have.’

  ‘Perhaps Renaissance knows something of what you’re talking about. She has only told you about my purpose here.’

  ‘And she’s not above a little bribery of her own. She’s offering me a bonus if you’re still alive at the end of the operation.’

  ‘That’s nice of her.’

  ‘Unfortunately for you, I can’t be bought.’

  Kaptu slid open the side window and tossed out a small metallic tracking device. ‘I’ll make my entry from here. I’ll go in at midnight and be back at dawn.’

  ‘Go in to do what? That hasn’t been explained to me yet.’

  ‘My dog is to have a sniff around. And I may not return alone. It depends on what kinds of scents get sniffed.’

  ‘Who might you bring back?’

  ‘La Pack.’

  Clorvine clutched both hands onto the joystick and stared at him. ‘That bonus is suddenly looking a lot less likely. But Renaissance gave me the impression you would be staying on a few days at least. So there is no need to rush into this. With tonight’s full moon, it really isn’t a wise time to go.’

  ‘Why not? We all feel a little crazy with a full moon.’

  ‘Crazy is the word. It will be too light. They’ll see you.’

  ‘Your concern is touching, especially as you say it’s not related to the money on the line. But there simply isn’t the time Renaissance may think there is. La Pack is relatively harmless compared to what else is out there in the big bad world.’

  Clorvine smile derisively. ‘Are you underestimating the dark forces of Africa? I’ve just explained to you that everyone who has crossed La Pack has ended up eaten by lions or riddled in snake bites. What kind of person could be worse than that?’

  Kaptu pulled out his laser-blade thousand round pistol and set about adjusting the settings to the high intensity levels. ‘I agree it takes a special someone. But they exist.’

  18 Homecoming

  Shally Nirajo knew sunlamps were dangerous, but she refused to look like she spent her whole life underground. She, however, had over-compensated to the extent that she more resembled a castaway on a desert island. It had aged her a good ten years, but she didn’t care. She enjoyed the contrast between herself and her pasty skinned bodyguards and it helped her feel removed from the dark places that she found herself in. As excited as she was to know her daughters was on her way, this room was certainly one of the darker to be had in the bowels of Asylum City. And the fact that her daughter was about to emerge from a sewage pipe did not bring any comfort either.

  Mario, her senior lieutenant, was standing closest to the pipe, listening intently to the security updates coming in through his earpiece.

  ‘She is about three minutes away,’ he passed on to Nirajo.

  ‘Any Breaches?’ Nirajo fired back.

  ‘No, ma’am. Escape routes all clear.’

  ‘I’m talking about from the sewage works as well. I don’t want my daughter drowning in an avalanche of shit.’

  ‘The sewage workers know that will be their fate exactly if anything goes wrong.’

  The pipe began to vibrate. Mario felt it and nodded. ‘That’s her now.’

  ‘Good.’ Nirajo understood the details of it intimately, like she did so many aspects of the Meltman operation. The small one-seater capsule would be travelling at one hundred kilometres per hour and it would be a fifty eight minutes and thirty seconds journey from the no man’s land staging post out in the Arizona wastelands. By the time of arrival in the converted pumping station, the outer skin’s lubricant would be heated to five hundred degrees Celsius and the capsule occupant would more often than not be lubricated in th
eir own mess - in the case of her hard living daughter, that would not be a completely unusual sight.

  The capsule’s approach was becoming a roar. Nirajo stepped to the hatch from which her daughter would soon be emerging. Her heart was pounding and that was something she couldn’t quite so easily quantify. Her daughter had made it to Europe, one of the very select few to escape Asylum City, and yet completely out of the blue she was returning. Nirajo recalled the complete joy and relief in her face on the day of her departure and shuddered at the thought of what would have prompted her to return. But what consumed her most was the similar look on the Meltman’s face when he was informed of her return.

  With a small eruption within the pipe running into the dark room of concrete, the capsule arrived. The hatch on top of the pipe hummed as it opened automatically. Natalie stepped out, looking only as disheveled as if she had been dancing a wild night of Flamenco.

  ‘Hi mum,’ she said, eyes beaming, rushing forward to embrace Nirajo.

  The embrace was tight but it was Nirajo who released first. ‘Why have you come back?’

  Natalie smirked. ‘Because I missed you so much. And Uncle Meltman too.’

  Nirajo slapped her hard across the face. Natalie took it and grinned. She looked at the nervously shuffling bodyguards who accompanied Nirajo wherever she went, though not necessarily in as great a number as this. Would one of you boys kindly fetch my luggage? Be careful with it, its fragile.’ She looked back to her mother who, as a result of an extensive program of fetus sculpting, bore no physical resemblance. ‘Uncle Meltman didn’t come to meet me?’

  ‘He’s busy. He says he will meet you at dinner.’

  ‘What time will that be?’

  ‘You really have been away a long time. Have you forgotten that time does not exist in the bowels of Asylum City?’

  19 Death on the crew list

  Space Weaver 180f was printed on the giant rocket in bold black letters, a different language for each side. Perhaps it was out of diplomacy that the air shuttle pilot chose the English side to pass on now. Her two passengers, Renaissance and Spiros Pardos, were gaping at the craft surely enough, but not for the same reasons as most visitors to the Belgium headquarters of the European Space Union. Rather than seeing some grand adventure in interstellar travel about to begin from its launch site, to them it was the likely escape route of a criminal they dearly wanted to apprehend. Such an impressive ship, but it was almost as mysterious as its destination trillions of kilometres away.

  ‘Is it on schedule?’ Renaissance queried.

  ‘Sure is,’ replied the pilot. ‘Europe’s best scientists and computers have been working ten years on the project. And it is led by the European Space Commissioner herself. We are going to her own personal docking bay. I trust you will not be offended when I say I have been instructed to leave the engine running. This is a very important time for her.’

  ‘The engines of our jet have been left running too,’ snapped Renaissance. ‘I understand there are many world leaders interested in shaking the Commissioner’s hand at the moment, but I assure you this is not a social visit.’

  The remainder of the short flight that had begun from the United Nation’s Geneva HQ transpired in silence. The docking bay was located at a centre point in the launch site’s administrative tower and with its thick layers of heavy steel more resembled a bunker. The shuttle’s main door opened to a brightly lit walkway and a pretty, smiling attendant dressed in the Space Union’s cherry red formal wear.

  Renaissance and Pardos tucked their briefcases underarm and descended the steps to the docking bay floor. The attendant smiled with glossy red lips. ‘The Commissioner has postponed a meeting in order to fit you in. She would not normally do that. She is a stickler for maintaining schedules. Did you know that after ten years the Space Weaver 180f mission is precisely on schedule?’

  Pardos chuckled sardonically. ‘No, but we do know what a schedule is.’

  The attendant’s smile didn’t slip. ‘This way, please.’ She led them from the docking bay into an elevator that had been held open for them. When the doors closed, the roar of the shuttle’s jet engines was replaced by a luxurious, sweet smelling quiet. The attendant pressed the top number on the elevator’s console, fifty seven. ‘If you would like any refreshments in the meeting, I can order ahead,’ she said.

  Both Renaissance and Pardos declined the offer. The elevator reached its floor and the attendant led with her hips on the journey down a corridor of large glass-walled laboratories to a door at the end marked Final Approvals. Geth Barzius was inside, peering down a microscope on a shiny metal table. She did not look up as the attendant announced Renaissance and Pardos’s arrival.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said, her head remaining perfectly still. ‘This is one of those tasks that is literally tiny, but that could make or break a future colony.’ She returned to a deep concentration before finally straightening her rounded back and looking over Renaissance and Pardos. ‘You see, bacteria and viruses keep our immune systems from turning against our bodies. So we must include some on the voyage. Our specialists have manufactured pathogens that will engage the immune system without any toxic effects. Although we are confident in the technology, the great danger lies in mutation. A harmless bug today can so easily turn into a killer bug tomorrow. That has always been the way of nature. It happens to people too and that’s where the psychologists earn their salaries.’

  ‘And that’s why we’re here,’ said Renaissance, sternly folding her arms. ‘We believe there may be a passenger on the flight list that is in fact an extremely dangerous criminal.’

  ‘Criminality is screened for during the application stage and there was nothing remarkable flagged. Unpaid debts was as bad as it got. That, of course, is not including the crimes we were not already aware of. And I have to admit some of those were quite significant.’

  ‘Her real identity is not on your files. And she has not yet had her day in court. That is why we are here.’

  Barzius studied Renaissance very much in the manner she had been doing down her microscope. ‘Very well, a name then.’

  ‘Mas. She is a poacher.’

  ‘A poacher? I can recall five hundred names of both successful and unsuccessful candidates and I am confident the name Mas was not amongst them.’

  ‘No doubt your identity validation systems are state-of-the-art, but Mas could surely beat them. She is a counter-tech expert.’

  ‘Do you have a photo at least?’

  Renaissance shook her head. ‘She is not on the System. We are trying, but at this stage we know very little about her.’

  ‘Then why are you so sure she will be on the Space Weaver?’

  ‘We’ve been tracking communications.’

  ‘Of someone you don’t even know what she looks like?’

  ‘That’s right. We’ve tracked the communication to and away from her.’

  Barzius walked to the window and gazed out at the Space Weaver. ‘When I stood in this spot two years ago, all I had was a dream. Look at the view now.’ She took in a deep breath as though she were trying to inhale the view as well see it. She gave Renaissance a half-glance. ‘I agreed to meet you without hesitation. Belgium is the home of the United Nations, is it not? And the Hurt World is an important part of that. On this occasion, however, I am puzzled as to actually how I can be of assistance.’

  ‘We would like access to the Space Weaver personnel list. We are quite certain Mas will be on it. Our analysis team may be able to sniff her out.’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot allow that. Not without a court order and only the Supreme Judge of the World Court can grant you that.’

  Renaissance stiffened. ‘Surely you don’t want a killer on your expedition?’

  ‘Is she a killer? You have just said she has yet to have her day in court. That means we must consider her innocent. Obviously she has been up to no good or else you wouldn’t have taken the time to come a
ll this way. I have no doubt about that. But she may be just the type of person we need in this mission. Hard, nasty people can be the most resilient. And on top of that she must also be extremely resourceful to have confounded such thoroughly committed pursuers as yourselves.’

  ‘We are not confounded,’ snapped Pardos.

  ‘Views depend on where you are standing.’ Barzius glanced at her wrist computer. ‘Unfortunately I must get back to worrying about mutations. I appreciate your concerns over mission security and I will have the team in charge review the personnel list one more time. They have certainly had their hands full. You wouldn’t believe how many extremist groups perceive deep space colonisation as an affront to their religious beliefs. They would love nothing more than to blow the Space Weaver and all inside it to smithereens. Now, if we could establish a new colony that leaves such a mindset as that far behind on Earth, to me that would be a worthy achievement.’

  ‘I’m afraid building the rocket is probably the easier part of the dream,’ said Renaissance, moving for the door. ‘I appreciate your time.’

  The attendant was waiting outside the laboratory to escort the two visitors back to the shuttle. Pardos knew it was better not to talk while she was in earshot but he simply didn’t have the patience to wait.

  ‘Should we get that court order?’ he snapped. ‘I think she underestimates what the Chief of Lawyers is capable of.’

  Renaissance thought twice about replying only to decide an uncomfortable silence would be a worse situation. ‘The space program is allowed certain latitude that may well see our application delayed or even rejected out of hand. That would be embarrassing to say the least. Who knows where this case may end but we do not want to go to court with the Supreme Court Judge having already made a ruling against us.’

  Pardos frowned. ‘I see.’

  ‘Of course, if Mas does start killing a few people, it will result in a more sympathetic hearing for our application. Our priority, however, is to try and stop her before that occurs. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I would. How do you rate our chances?’

  This time Renaissance did opt for an uncomfortable silence.

  20 Fatal view

  The speedboat was skimming over the rolling waves off the coast of Las Gabos. A paraglider named Sergeant Rick was being towed behind, high above the turquoise waters of the Pacific Ocean, the lightweight canopy khaki and his uniform the black of the United Nation’s Peace Keeper Corps. Rick was using his wrist computer to take reconnaissance images and readings of the industrial complex that was coming on fast. Although his thermal readings were telling him there were no people in the vicinity, the scanners were picking up the presence of rats scattered about the complex, the biggest rats he had ever seen.

  ‘Are you catching this?’ he said into his mike. ‘Those rodents are so big they could wear a saddle.’

  Rojas Hose was in the cockpit of the speedboat and glanced up at him with his binoculars. The paraglider’s helmet and goggles were concealing the revulsion upon his face that was clearly detectable in his voice. ‘Are you sure they’re the only lifeforms you’re detecting?’ he queried into his headset mike. ‘Where there are rats, there are usually humans. It’s one of humankind’s most enduring relationships.’

  ‘I’ll repeat the scans.’

  ‘Please do.’ Rojas gave him a wave of encouragement and returned his attention out the cockpit windscreen ahead. He was sitting beside the speedboat driver, Corporal Sodan. He had decided to take Renaissance’s advice and get out of the office, and in this case it made perfect operational sense. It was clear they were running one step behind Mas and whatever scheme she was embroiled in and it would take a giant leap to get out ahead. Perhaps this abandoned industrial site held some sign or clue. It was one of the points of the triangle. It had been put to use in some way or another. Rojas suspected the purpose had been completed, the site scrubbed clean and abandoned. But all it took was one scrap of evidence left behind, one small thing overlooked. It mightn’t be easy to find but if Rojas really was one of the best analysts in the business, this was where he needed to show it.

  ‘Looks like we are safe to make landfall,’ he shouted to Sodan over the headset. ‘Take us to the pier.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Sodan replied. ‘ETA four minutes.’

  ‘Second scan complete,’ came the paraglider over the airwaves. ‘It’s confirmed, rats is all there is.’

  ‘Understood.’ Rojas stood up and leaned over the windscreen, revelling in the wind hitting his face. He took out his camera and began snapping pitches of the grain silos. For some reason they interested him. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because his instincts were telling him that whatever had taken place at this site, the silos were at the heart of it.

  ‘Explosives readings for the site have just come in,’ returned the paraglider in a suddenly tense voice.

  ‘And?’

  ‘We need to turn round.’

  Rojas and the speedboat driver looked at each other.

  ‘Hold on,’ cried Sodan He went hard at the steering wheel, executing a gut wrenching turn that flung Rojas back into his seat. The explosion within the industrial park came barely an instant later and was massive. Only the protective glass around the cockpit saved the two men in the speedboat from the horizontal spray of shrapnel. The paraglider, however, was completely exposed. He screamed in agony as tiny shards of metal ripped through him like bullets. The blood resembled red streamers fluttering behind as the speedboat reached top speed in its retreat.

  ‘We should stop,’ said Rojas, looking up

  ‘Not yet,’ the driver replied. ‘There could be a secondary explosion.’

  ‘We’ve got to save him.’

  Sergeant Sodan glanced up from the steering wheel to see that the paraglider had gone limp, his bloodied head dangling by his shoulders.

  ‘You ain’t saving anyone up there,’ he muttered darkly.

  Rojas sunk his head into his hands, overcome by shock. Sodan put a consoling hand on his shoulder. ‘It is not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it is Rick himself. The protocol is to scan for explosives first - for this very reason.’ The driver spat out a string of profanities and took a look back at the burning, obliterated silos and the hills around them. ‘My guess is the bomber was in a lookout position, waiting to act if the site became compromised.’

  The theory stirred Rojas from his stupor. He scoured the scene left behind, the sunbaked hills leading up to the wildly ablaze industrial site. Again it was the silos that corralled his attention. They were now just jagged, flaming chimneys. The blasts had been centred there. Rojas was raising his camera that way when there came another blinding flash. The shockwave flung him violently onto his back. Above him, the dead paraglider was swallowed by flame as the entire sky turned to fire.

  21 Approach

  A lion’s roar briefly carried over the rhythmic calls of the cicadas. It was in the distance without being too far. Kaptu Z wondered if lions were like guard dogs. He wondered if his presence had been detected.

  There was rustling down in the tall grass he was moving through. Fearing a snake, he put on his night glasses to scan the area. After a fruitless moment, however, he decided he had better just accept he was not the only creature this grass was hiding.

  He had spent a sweaty twenty minutes working on the wiring of the perimetre fence and now he was done. He could cut his way through it without triggering the sensor alarms. He had enjoyed doing it, the electrics of Africa being at least one thing he could claim a familiarity with. As he withdrew the laser-cutters from his backpack he gave Blast a probing pat. She was lying patiently on her belly beside him; although relaxed, her ears were constantly pricked to her surroundings. Kaptu felt an affection for her, though it worried him how badly he needed her alive. An entire criminal empire might stand or fall on it. Kaptu put the thought out of mind and cut open the fence with clean, even strokes. Blast sprung eagerly to her feet,
unburdened by the stakes at play. She intently watched Kaptu crawl through the fence and came running with his command. Kaptu marked the time at 4:15 am. Still an hour before dawn. He led Blast deeper into La Pack’s private zoo.

  Even with his night vision goggles on, the animals in captivity were little more than silhouettes in their cages. Some were pacing but most were still. As long as they remained in their cages, Kaptu did not much mind. He held his rifle at the ready and began to crisscross the zoo grounds. He kept one eye on Blast all the while: a simple bark and a rising of her tail would be enough to connect Mas to this locale, to empower Kaptu to start making arrests. He wondered if it had ever sounded a good idea. But as he started towards the domed central building, he noted the communication tower soaring high from the roof, the intercepted communications with Mas must have been transmitted through that. And it made sense. A remote outpost with few police and almost no honest ones. The perfect place for the likes of Mas. And perhaps not so good for those cops who did happen to be honest.

  Kaptu was nearing the giraffe cage when there was a vicious sting on his arm. Not wanting to scent his skin with insect repellent, this was not the first, but the pain was like nothing else. He reflexively grabbed the spot and realised he had been struck by a small dart. The toxin was fast acting, his head instantly becoming heavy and dizzy. He crashed onto his back, looking up at the giraffes. They slept standing up. With a feeling of dread, he now understood he had been doing that too.