“You better act fast,” Joe said. “At the rate that water is going down the drain, the pool will be empty in a matter of minutes.”
Kurt looked for a way down, preferably one that would make it easy to remain unnoticed by the technician. He settled on using one of the girders that supported the roof. It had the advantage of being sturdy and located behind the man and his control panel.
Kurt moved toward it, stretching from one truss to the next. He twisted his body to climb around a bundle of electrical cables and reached the girder without being noticed.
Putting his hands and feet on either side of the I beam, Kurt began to descend. He’d made it halfway down when Joe held up a clenched fist, signaling him to stop.
Footsteps on the concrete told Kurt the technician was moving, but he couldn’t see around the beam. He looked back at Joe. The fist remained clenched, but Joe’s eyes were on the target below, turning and tracking until . . .
Joe looked at Kurt, released his fist and pointed downward repeatedly and rapidly. Go now.
Kurt all but slid the rest of the way down, landing solidly and bending his knees to absorb the shock.
The touchdown was surprisingly quiet. He glanced around. The technician had vanished down the hall. Kurt let him go and moved toward the pool.
By now, the water had drained appreciably. No more than a foot of liquid was left at the bottom—and that would be gone in another minute.
Kurt needed a container to collect a sample. He opened a cabinet beside the control console and found tools, work lights and extension cords. A second cabinet stored paint cans and sealant. None of which helped.
A bottle of chlorine sat nearby, but even if Kurt dumped the contents the residual bleach inside would kill the algae and make the sample worthless. He needed something else, something sterile.
His eyes darted around the room, spotting a plastic water bottle that someone had placed on a shelf and forgotten about. Kurt grabbed it, dumped the water remaining in it and hopped down into the rapidly emptying pool.
The pool was four feet deep at the shallow end, with a six-foot depth at the other end where the twin drains were sucking the water down. The shallow end was dry with only a thin film of water clinging to the surface under Kurt’s feet.
Kurt sprinted to the deep end, dropping to one knee and submerging the bottle under the last few inches of water. Bubbles streamed from the opening as the greenish fluid filled it.
A sound from above got Kurt’s attention. Joe had banged his fist on the hopper and was gesturing madly. He looked like an NFL quarterback trying to change the play at the last second. He pointed to a spot behind Kurt, following that with a walking motion using two fingers. The technician was coming back.
Kurt pulled the bottle from the water, capped it and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He threw himself against the wall and crouched low as the sound of footsteps and something being dragged along the concrete floor approached from behind him.
Kurt looked up as a shadow fell over him. He saw the toe of a boot sticking out over the edge. A jet of water appeared, firing across the pool and blasting the far wall with a high-pressure stream of liquid.
Kurt noticed a hand attached to the brass nozzle and the pressurized curve of a narrow-gauge fire hose. The technician was using it to wash down the last of the residue, directing the spray in a side-to-side motion. He couldn’t see Kurt unless he looked straight down and Kurt couldn’t move without revealing himself.
As the technician finished washing down one section, he shuffled a few inches to the left. Once the next section had been rinsed, he moved again.
Each time the technician repositioned himself, Kurt moved along with him. But this maneuver had its limits.
Still pressed flat against the wall, Kurt glanced up at Joe, thinking now would be a good time to do something.
Joe stared for a moment, held up a finger . . . and then promptly disappeared.
Kurt shook his head. Retreat was not what he had in mind.
* * *
—
Up in the rafters, Joe was planning anything but a retreat. He’d been watching and calculating. By his own rough estimate, he had a sixty percent chance of success.
Climbing into the ice hopper, he crawled toward the stainless steel chute, which remained pointed toward the pool.
Inching forward, Joe lay down on his stomach. To make this plan work, he would need to time his slide just right.
He saw the jet of water come into view as the technician continued to move in side steps.
“Just a little farther,” Joe whispered.
The technician took another step to the right. Joe released his grip and slid forward, picking up speed as he raced down the chute. The technician stepped directly in front of him as Joe flew off the end.
Joe crashed into the man waist-high, taking him to ground in a crunching tackle.
* * *
—
Kurt heard the crash and saw the water jet veer off target. He knew Joe had sprung into action. Popping up, he climbed out of the pool, ready to lend his assistance.
He found Joe pinning the technician down, but the man wasn’t fighting. He looked groggy, like he didn’t know what hit him.
“Nice trick,” Kurt said.
“Chutes and ladders,” Joe said. “You took the slow way down. I took the express.”
“There are advantages to that,” Kurt admitted.
At that exact moment, the far door opened and one of the men who’d shoveled the ice onto the ramp appeared. “What’s all the noise about?”
“And disadvantages,” Joe said.
The new arrival was big and burly. At six foot five, with a substantial gut and arms like pythons, he looked like the type who might wade into a bar fight with a grin on his face. But instead of attacking with his fists, he reached for a pistol on his belt.
Kurt and Joe dove in opposite directions. A gunshot rang out, followed by its ricochet.
Kurt found himself by the nozzle of the fire hose. He turned it toward the big guy, blinding him with a blast of high-pressure water and then yanking the hose to the side, twisting his body as hard as he could in the effort.
The armed man had ducked out of the surging stream, bringing an arm up to shield his face. He never saw the second hit coming, as Kurt’s strenuous effort brought the length of the hose up off the ground and whipped it forward.
It snapped taut and caught the man in the back of the knees. His legs folded and he went over backward. He hit the ground, rolled to the side and turned back toward Kurt. Just in time to get hit in the face by another blast.
He raised the pistol, firing blindly and attempting to block the water with his free hand. Before he managed to get a clear view, Joe came in from the side and kicked the pistol from his grasp and dropped down on him with a flying elbow.
The impact slammed the burly man into the pool deck. His face hit the concrete and his nose shattered. He rolled over, his face bloody, his eyes filled with rage.
Joe threw a right cross, but the man caught it in his big paw and stopped the punch cold.
He stood up, pulling Joe toward him and then grabbing him by the tuxedo lapels.
Joe kicked the man in his substantial gut, but it had no effect. The man lifted him up and heaved him across the room like he was a small child.
Joe flew uncontrollably, crashing into the cabinets and bringing them down on top of him.
Rushing into action, Kurt charged around the far side of the pool, dragging the hose with him and hooking it around the brute’s body.
Kurt heaved on the line, but the big man was stout. He absorbed the force, taking a single step back but otherwise holding his ground. Turning the tables on Kurt, he locked onto the hose with both hands and ripped it from Kurt’s grasp.
To avoid being toppled into the pool, Kurt let go. As the big
man stumbled backward in victory, Kurt raced to Joe’s side and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
They rushed for the door as the big man punched a large red button on the far wall. Alarms began to sound. Automatic doors began to close.
Sprinting for all they were worth, Kurt and Joe made it through the exit just before a steel-barred gate slammed shut.
“Now what?” Joe said.
“Keep running.”
23
Leandra was still in the maintenance shed when she heard the alarm go off. Red lights began flashing inside and sections of the fencing between the shed and the main compound slid shut. “So much for making a quick getaway.”
She crouched in her hiding spot, listening to the dull whoop-whoop-whoop of the alarm and watching as the Mercedes carrying Ryland and his guests pulled in and parked.
Stepping from the car, Ryland was met by two of his employees—an older man who was his primary gamekeeper and a younger ranch hand.
“What’s the alarm about?” Ryland asked calmly.
“Animal escape,” the gamekeeper said.
“Where?” Ryland demanded.
“Back at building four.”
To Leandra, Ryland looked preternaturally calm. “We’ve just come from building four,” he said.
The gamekeeper raised his hands. “All I can tell you is someone activated the high danger alert. It’s probably those damned lions again. They were raised in zoos and circuses. They were mistreated badly and they’re dangerous. At this point they associate humans with food.”
“So you’ve told me,” Ryland said. “I doubt they’re the problem this time. Give me your radio.”
The gamekeeper produced his radio and handed it over. Ryland held it to his face and pressed the talk button. “Building four, come in, this is Ryland. What’s your status?”
Leandra had the volume on her radio turned down to the bare minimum, but the scratchy sound of a human voice came through. She pressed the speaker to her ear to listen.
“. . . spotted two intruders after you left. I don’t know how they got in here, but they beat up one of my men and took a sample of the pool water. I hit the emergency animal alarm to lock down the building but they got out before the doors shut.”
The details made little sense to Leandra, but Ryland’s guests looked instantly concerned.
“Sample?” the Russian said. “Of your catalytic algae?”
“Relax,” Ryland said.
“With a sample, someone could develop a counteragent.”
“Unlikely,” Ryland said. “Besides, they’ll never have the chance. They’re in the middle of a game park teeming with wild animals and surrounded by electric fences.”
Remaining unflappable, he brought the radio back up and pressed talk once more. “Were these intruders two men in tuxedos, one of average height with short dark hair and a taller one with silver hair and an irritating smirk on his face?”
“That’s them for sure.”
“I thought so,” Ryland said.
Liang seemed agitated by this news. “You know these men?”
Ryland nodded. “Two Americans from an organization called NUMA. I was suspicious of them from the moment they requested an invitation.”
“Then you should have refused them entry,” Liang snapped.
Ryland shook his head. “Refusing them entry would have raised their suspicions and I wanted to learn their intentions. Now that I know their goal, I will deal with them appropriately.”
“How?” Tunstall asked.
“In a way that looks like an explainable tragedy.” He turned back to the gamekeeper.
“Those lions were brought here to be hunted,” he said. “It seems only fair to let them have a little fun of their own. Take a few of your men and release them. Bring the night vision scopes and find the Americans. Once you spot them, keep the lions moving in their direction.”
“Those lions are overdue for a feeding,” the gamekeeper said.
“Yes,” Ryland said, grinning. “That should make them even more keen to do the job for us.”
24
Kurt and Joe were running in a southerly direction when they heard the first sound for the lions behind them. The roar of a male could travel for miles, but this call was much closer. Other roars followed and it sounded as if a skirmish had broken out between several of the beasts.
“That’s not a sound I wanted to hear,” Joe said, continuing to move.
Whatever caused the disturbance, it soon died down.
“I’d prefer if they kept roaring,” Kurt said. “If they stay quiet, we’ll never know where they are.”
“At that point I think you can assume they’re sneaking up on us.”
Kurt and Joe had no way of knowing that the gamekeeper and his assistant were using cattle prods to force the maladjusted lions out of their cramped pens. Or that the big cats, now agitated, had balked, swatting at the prods and roaring with each painful jab.
Running at a pace they could maintain, Kurt kept moving south, bending their course wide of the main building and its inviting lights.
“What about Leandra?” Joe asked.
“Let’s hope she’s heard the commotion and got out,” Kurt said.
Coming upon a tree with a Y-shaped trunk, Kurt climbed up and gazed off into the distance.
“What do you see?” Joe said, breathing deeply to resupply his muscles with oxygen.
“Headlights and dust,” Kurt said. “They’ve got a couple vehicles out there, weaving back and forth.”
“Sounds like a modern cattle drive,” Joe said. “Or, in this case, a lion drive.”
Kurt had no doubt they were using the vehicles to spur the lions forward. He wondered about doubling back, then realized it would be too slow on foot to get around the lions and the men in the vehicles.
He looked the other way. There wasn’t much light, but based on the glow from the lodge, he estimated the fence was no more than half a mile off. “Let’s run for it.”
Kurt hopped down and the two of them took off once again. Picking up the pace and running in silence.
A glance back told Kurt their pursuers were coming closer. He saw four vehicles spread out in a V formation, headlights glaring like the eyes of some infernal beast. He had to assume the lions were somewhere in the front of that beast.
“Remember Satchel Paige’s advice,” Joe said. “Never look back. Someone might be gaining on you.”
“He wasn’t wrong,” Kurt said, picking up the pace even further.
The vehicles were moving slowly, no more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour, but it was twice the speed a man could run for any appreciable length of time.
Kurt changed direction and veered to the right. Joe matched him.
It didn’t take long for the approaching formation to change its path as well, swinging around with remarkable precision, until the yawing V was lined up directly with their new course.
“Who knew lions were related to bloodhounds,” Joe said.
“The men in the trucks are doing the tracking,” Kurt said. “Must be using thermal or night vision scopes.”
Joe pointed to a looming rock formation ahead and to their left. It rose fifty feet from the ground, sloping on all sides like the back of a giant tortoise. “Night vision can’t see through rock. Let’s put that mound of granite between us and them.”
“Great idea,” Kurt said.
They cut to the left, running at a reckless pace, one that couldn’t be sustained.
The vehicles trailing them swung around to follow, slowed by the maneuver but still closing in. The sound of engines and tires on the rough ground was growing louder, shouts could be heard as the men yelled to one another and cursed at the lions they were relentlessly driving forward.
Kurt reached the edge
of the rocks with Joe a few paces behind. He cut around the corner and then turned toward the fence, careful to keep the rocks between them and the headlights.
He’d gone no more than twenty yards when he had to put his heels into the ground and come to a sudden stop. Joe pulled up beside him, dropping into a crouch and freezing in position.
In front of them, shimmering in the dark, loomed a pair of luminescent eyes. A second pair rose out of the grass beside the first, with several additional pairs soon appearing beyond them.
“Looks like the lions outflanked us,” Kurt said.
“I don’t think so,” Joe replied. He heard a yipping sound.
“Jackals?” Kurt suggested.
“Hyenas.”
Whatever they were, the pack of animals grew to at least a dozen. At the same time, light from the pursuing vehicles had begun to creep around the rocks, stretching across the grass and bringing light out onto the open plain.
“Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place,” Joe said.
“I choose the rocks,” Kurt said. “Let’s get back—and quickly.”
They backed up, keeping their eyes on the hyenas until they neared the rocks, at which point they turned and sprinted up onto the dark stone. Kurt climbed as quickly as he could, taking cover halfway up where he found a gap in the rock. Joe pressed into the fissure beside him.
Out on the grass, the hyenas stood tall, sniffing the air. Their ears pricked up and their nostrils twitched. The sound of vehicles didn’t bother them—they were used to the presence of men and machines in the park—but they smelled something else. Another animal invading their turf.
Kurt inched forward as the lions made their first appearance. The big cats were illuminated by the lights of the vehicles following them. They loped into view and slowed to a walk and then came to a stop altogether.
“They smell the hyenas,” Joe said.
Kurt counted seven animals, four females and three males. They looked a little mangy, no doubt from their treatment in places they’d been rescued from. He saw scars on their hides and noticed one of the males moved with a limp.
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