stepped off on the ground and walked slowly toward Zak.
“This is the airport?” Zak nodded. “My attorney said the guide should be here with our supplies. That’s obviously not happening.”
“What’s the guide’s name?”
“Roger Kamau.”
Zak flipped the phone from her waistband, punched the keys, and spoke in a language Sara didn’t recognize. But the intonation of the dialect sounded perfectly natural. The familiar cadence she’d detected in Zak’s speech when they first met was obviously an African derivative. What else didn’t she know about Zak Chambers and would probably never learn?
When Zak ended the call, she asked, “What language is that?”
“Swahili. We’ll have a ride in a few minutes. I’ll give you the lat and long of our overnight location when we arrive so you can forward it to the guide. Maybe he’ll find us by morning.”
“A ride? What did you do, call a taxi out here in the middle of nowhere?”
The smile that Zak gave her was devilish. “Sort of. You might want to utilize the facilities before we get started.” She nodded toward the primitive rock building. “We have another hour’s ride, which will seem like four.”
Sara considered her options. “I think I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself, but it doesn’t get any better.” She sat down on the shelter’s raised concrete floor, feet on the ground, and reclined against a post.
“What does that mean?”
“Since we don’t have our supplies, we’ll have to spend the night along the way. The accommodations won’t be exactly top drawer.”
Sara sat beside Zak on the floor and took in her demeanor. Some of the tension that usually marred her alabaster complexion with worry lines was absent. But the hypervigilance of the hunter and the hunted was still apparent in her steadily shifting eyes and spring-loaded posture. “You love this country, don’t you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re slightly more relaxed. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still revved higher than a jet engine at take-off, but something’s different.” Sara thought Zak might ignore her comment completely as she surveyed the surrounding area again.
“It’s easier to see what’s coming on the savannah. The threats aren’t camouflaged as friends or amiable associates. Life simply consists of varying degrees of danger.”
“That sounds rather pessimistic. When I look around, I see potential. It seems beautiful, wide open, and wild. I can almost taste the excitement. The people I’ve encountered in Mombasa through the years have always been cordial, helpful, and eager to work. Nobody rests. Nobody takes their livelihood for granted. I assume it would be the same in the bush. Where’s the danger in that?”
“They can’t afford to take anything for granted. They have to work every day just to survive.” As Zak spoke, her eyes sparked with intensity. Her usually throaty voice pitched an octave higher and words flowed from her effortlessly. “A middle class is just beginning to develop in Africa. You’re usually rich or poor, and the rich want to keep it that way. Danger is inherent in that type of unbalanced socioeconomic environment, not to mention the government’s corrupt attempts to bilk everyone.”
“I was right. You are passionate about this place. It’s good to know you have that kind of energy about something. I was beginning to worry about your soul, Ninja.” Sara smiled and nudged Zak with her shoulder. “Careful or I’ll start to think you’re a nice person.”
“Ndugu, ndugu!” A dust cloud moved toward the platform from across the savannah, a voice calling from somewhere inside it. “Ndugu.”
She and Zak stood and looked toward the approaching vehicle. “What’s he saying?”
“He says ‘sister’ in Swahili. That’s Ben, our ride.”
The rust-colored Jeep was still skidding to a stop when a young man vaulted out the driver’s door and charged toward Zak. He was tall and lanky, like Zak,
“This is the airport?” Zak nodded. “My attorney said the guide should be here with our supplies. That’s obviously not happening.”
“What’s the guide’s name?”
“Roger Kamau.”
Zak flipped the phone from her waistband, punched the keys, and spoke in a language Sara didn’t recognize. But the intonation of the dialect sounded perfectly natural. The familiar cadence she’d detected in Zak’s speech when they first met was obviously an African derivative. What else didn’t she know about Zak Chambers and would probably never learn?
When Zak ended the call, she asked, “What language is that?”
“Swahili. We’ll have a ride in a few minutes. I’ll give you the lat and long of our overnight location when we arrive so you can forward it to the guide. Maybe he’ll find us by morning.”
“A ride? What did you do, call a taxi out here in the middle of nowhere?”
The smile that Zak gave her was devilish. “Sort of. You might want to utilize the facilities before we get started.” She nodded toward the primitive rock building. “We have another hour’s ride, which will seem like four.”
Sara considered her options. “I think I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself, but it doesn’t get any better.” She sat down on the shelter’s raised concrete floor, feet on the ground, and reclined against a post.
“What does that mean?”
“Since we don’t have our supplies, we’ll have to spend the night along the way. The accommodations won’t be exactly top drawer.”
Sara sat beside Zak on the floor and took in her demeanor. Some of the tension that usually marred her alabaster complexion with worry lines was absent. But the hypervigilance of the hunter and the hunted was still apparent in her steadily shifting eyes and spring-loaded posture. “You love this country, don’t you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You’re slightly more relaxed. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still revved higher than a jet engine at take-off, but something’s different.” Sara thought Zak might ignore her comment completely as she surveyed the surrounding area again.
“It’s easier to see what’s coming on the savannah. The threats aren’t camouflaged as friends or amiable associates. Life simply consists of varying degrees of danger.”
“That sounds rather pessimistic. When I look around, I see potential. It seems beautiful, wide open, and wild. I can almost taste the excitement. The people I’ve encountered in Mombasa through the years have always been cordial, helpful, and eager to work. Nobody rests. Nobody takes their livelihood for granted. I assume it would be the same in the bush. Where’s the danger in that?”
“They can’t afford to take anything for granted. They have to work every day just to survive.” As Zak spoke, her eyes sparked with intensity. Her usually throaty voice pitched an octave higher and words flowed from her effortlessly. “A middle class is just beginning to develop in Africa. You’re usually rich or poor, and the rich want to keep it that way. Danger is inherent in that type of unbalanced socioeconomic environment, not to mention the government’s corrupt attempts to bilk everyone.”
“I was right. You are passionate about this place. It’s good to know you have that kind of energy about something. I was beginning to worry about your soul, Ninja.” Sara smiled and nudged Zak with her shoulder. “Careful or I’ll start to think you’re a nice person.”
“Ndugu, ndugu!” A dust cloud moved toward the platform from across the savannah, a voice calling from somewhere inside it. “Ndugu.”
She and Zak stood and looked toward the approaching vehicle. “What’s he saying?”
“He says ‘sister’ in Swahili. That’s Ben, our ride.”
The rust-colored Jeep was still skidding to a stop when a young man vaulted out the driver’s door and charged toward Zak. He was tall and lanky, like Zak,
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