by Mike Resnick
“Will the place be full, do you think?” she asked, getting out of the car. She unstrapped her holsters and put it and the pistols into Oliver’s unused backpack, which she then slung over her shoulders.
“The animal spotter on duty tonight is Franz Theibolt,” answered Oliver. “He’s a friend from the old days. If there’s nothing else available, you can have his room.”
“I wasn’t concerned about a room,” she said. “I just wondered how many people we’re going to have to check out before we can relax.”
“We’ll know when we get there,” he replied. “There are maybe fifty-five or sixty rooms, and they usually run close to a full house.”
They began walking along the dirt road. A few baboons stopped to watch them.
“Well, that’s a comfort, anyway,” remarked Oliver.
“The baboons?”
He nodded. “As long as they’re out in the open, it means there aren’t any leopards around.”
A bushbuck loped across the road some twenty yards ahead of them, and then a pair of giant forest hogs appeared, rooting industriously through the high grasses that lined the road. Lara kept waiting for something bigger to come along and claim right-of-way, something like an elephant or a buffalo, but none appeared, and after ten minutes she finally saw the Ark in the distance.
“You know, from here it really does look like Noah’s Ark,” she remarked. “Or at least like I’ve always imagined it.”
“Except that it’s well over a mile above sea level.”
“So’s the real one.”
He stopped and stared at her. “You mean you’ve actually found it?”
Lara laughed. “Sorry, Malcolm. I couldn’t resist teasing you. No, I haven’t found Noah’s Ark. But then again, I haven’t looked for it either. Not yet, anyway.”
They reached the huge structure in another five minutes. A number of people on one of the viewing platforms spotted them and stared curiously as they walked to a door at ground level.
“Hey, fella!” said one of the tourists. “Can’t you read? No one’s allowed to go wandering around the area. You have to stay in the Ark.”
Oliver ignored him and entered the Ark, then led Lara up a service stairway to the main level, the one that held the bedrooms, the dining room, and the viewing platforms and balconies.
An ancient, khaki-clad man, his thin white hair barely visible against the pink shine of his near-bald pate, walked up to them.
“Malcolm!” he said. “What the hell were you doing walking around here?”
Oliver gave him a cock-and-bull story about poachers and blown tires. Then he and Lara stepped out onto one of the platforms overlooking the salt lick and the water hole. They spent a few minutes watching some giant forest hogs, perhaps the same they had encountered on the service road, come by to drink. A bongo arrived next, went directly to the salt lick, had his fill, took a drink, and soon vanished back into the forest.
When the excitement over Oliver and Lara’s sudden appearance had died down, Theibolt caught their eye and wandered down the hall to the very last room. They waited a moment to make sure no one was watching them, then followed him.
“All right, Malcolm,” said Theibolt when they had entered his room and shut the door behind them, “what the hell is going on? I haven’t heard a gunshot all week, and I’m not so old and blind that I can’t tell the lady is carrying guns in her shoulder bag, or that you’ve got your Magnum tucked under your shirt.”
“I can’t tell you everything,” said Oliver. “But this woman is a friend, and she’s in serious danger. We need to stay here for the night.”
“We’ve always got a couple of extra rooms the public doesn’t know about,” responded Theibolt. He turned to Lara. “What’s your name, Miss—and who’s after you?”
“You’ll live longer if you don’t know the answer to either question,” said Lara.
“You make it sound very mysterious.”
“It’s very dangerous,” said Oliver. “Trust me.”
“I believe you,” said Theibolt. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes,” said Oliver. “I need to get to a phone tonight.”
“We don’t have any phones, but we’ve got a radio, if that’ll do.”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”
“Anything else?”
“Someone’s messed my car up pretty badly. It’s about two miles down the service road. Have it towed in and see if anyone can repair it in the next few days, and if not, tow it to the shop in Nyeri. It’s going to need a brake job and a new transmission at the very least.” Oliver paused. “And I’ll need to borrow a vehicle tomorrow morning.”
“No problem,” said Theibolt. “We’ve got a few safari cars tucked away. We use them to patrol for poachers. It’s about the only excitement I get these days.”
“Let’s hope we don’t bring you any more,” said Oliver. “Now, where’s the radio?”
“In the manager’s office,” answered Theibolt. “I have to warn you that it’s like the rest of the Ark. Except for the viewing decks, space is at a premium.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Oliver. “The lady and I will have dinner, and then, after we’re sure it’s safe, I’ll go to the office with you and use the radio. I don’t think it’ll take more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Sounds good,” said Theibolt. “It’s starting to get dark now, so the money animals should be coming down to drink. I’d better go back to the deck and tell the people what they’re looking at.”
“The money animals?” repeated Lara.
“Elephants, rhino, maybe a leopard or two,” answered Theibolt. “The stuff the tourists pay their money to see.”
He ushered them out into the corridor, locked the door to his room, and escorted them back to the deck. When he began pointing out the obvious to the tourists, Oliver and Lara decided it was time to go grab some dinner.
A burly waiter barred the way to the dining room. “Everyone eats at the same time,” he announced.
Oliver pulled out his never-rescinded police badge. “Not quite everyone,” he said, flashing it before the man’s eyes and brushing by him before he could protest.
Lara joined him, and they sat at a table in the corner of the room, the walls at their backs.
“What do you need with the radio?” she asked as they waited for their food to arrive.
“Your Air Kenya flight is Tuesday, right?”
“Yes.”
“At the rate people keep trying to kill you, I’m not sure either of us can last that long,” said Oliver seriously. “There are a number of small charter companies operating out of Wilson Airport, the little airport near the Nairobi Game Park. I thought I’d see if I can get us a flight to the Seychelles tomorrow. That way we just might survive.”
“We?”
He nodded. “They tried to kill me, too. I have a right to see this thing through to the end.”
“I suppose maybe you do.”
“Well, that’s settled,” said Oliver. “I’ll try to arrange something for late morning. The kind of small plane we charter will never make it to the Seychelles without stopping to refuel in Mombasa. We’re probably looking at anywhere from five to seven hours for the trip.”
“Then let’s leave earlier,” said Lara.
“Can’t be done. We’re in a national park. They won’t let us out until the gates open. If we try to crash through, they’ll assume we’re poachers and start shooting—and you really don’t need any more people trying to shoot you. Anyway, it’s a two-hour drive back to Nairobi, so late morning makes the most sense.”
Dinner arrived, and they broke off their conversation while they ate. When they were finished Oliver took his leave of her, hunted up Theibolt, and went to the office to use the radio, while Lara began wandering around the Ark.
All the game-viewing activities were in the back, by the water hole, and since she wanted to avoid any crowds she strolled in the other direction. When
she reached the front of the Ark she saw a long wooden walkway leading over a gorge to the area where the bus that had brought the tourists was parked for the night. She heard a deep cough, the type a lion might make, coming from the gorge. She went about halfway down the walkway and looked over the railing, but she couldn’t see anything.
Then she became aware that she was no longer alone. The burly waiter was slowly approaching her, a wicked-looking butcher knife in his hand. She took a step toward the parking area, then stopped as a smaller man, clutching a dagger, climbed out of the bus and began approaching her.
Undaunted, she reached down for her pistols—and suddenly realized that they were still in her shoulder bag. Instead, she reached into her boot and withdrew the Scalpel of Isis.
Neither man made a sound as they approached her, and she, too, remained silent. Oliver and Theibolt were locked away in an office, working the radio, and the last thing she needed was for some unarmed tourist with delusions of grandeur to hear a commotion and come to her rescue.
She saw no advantage in waiting for them both to charge her from opposite directions, so she quickly appraised both men, decided that the one from the bus would be an easier adversary, and instantly raced toward him. Startled, he took a defensive posture, but instead of charging straight at him she ran toward the railing, leaped onto it, raced down its length until she was even with him, and delivered a swift kick to his head.
He spun around, staggered, and swung his knife blindly at her. She hurled herself through the air, turning a complete somersault eight feet above the ground, and landed directly behind him, where she slashed out with the dagger, sliced his wrist, and caused him to drop his own knife.
He took a swing at her, but it was obvious he wasn’t used to fighting without a weapon. She blocked his blow, jabbed a thumb into his throat, then sidestepped his blind charge and listened to his scream as he plunged over the rail and into the gorge.
She turned to meet the waiter. He had the butcher knife held high above his head, and as it plunged down at her she grabbed his hand, fell backward, lifted her feet, and hurled him over her head. His own momentum carried him through the air and he landed heavily on his back, as the butcher knife went clattering along the walkway and finally fell through the wooden slats into the gorge.
The man was on his feet instantly. He reached out for her, and she grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply. He dropped to one knee, and she landed a blow to the side of his head. He grunted in pain, but was on his feet again a moment later.
The big man began circling to his left, and Lara turned to face him. He took a step forward, she backed away, and suddenly felt the rail behind her.
“I have you now!” he rasped and dove for her.
She tried to sidestep, but his arms were spread too wide, and as he grabbed her the pair of them crashed against the railing. Lara felt it give way, and then they were rolling over the edge, into the gorge. Desperately she reached for the edge of the walkway, and her fingers barely grasped it. The waiter began falling and latched on to her leg.
The additional weight almost yanked her loose, but she kicked his head twice with her free foot, and just when she was sure she couldn’t hold on any longer, he lost his own grip on her and fell into the gorge.
Lara looked down, saw both men getting to their feet, and after pulling herself back up onto the walkway, began rush-ing back to the Ark, planning to lock all the ground-level doors so they couldn’t come after her again.
Then she heard an ear-splitting roar, followed by two shrieks of terror.
Well, she thought, recalling what Oliver had told her, if you know enough not to run away, if you don’t panic, you just might live through the night, which is more than you planned for me.
She resisted the urge to see if they had enough self-control to survive, and went back inside the Ark to have a cup of tea before turning in for the night.
29
They were up at sunrise, and immediately sought out Franz Theibolt. Lara decided to wear her pistols and didn’t much care what kind of commotion they caused, but almost everyone was asleep after watching animals all night long.
“Did you get us a car?” asked Oliver.
“Yes,” answered the old hunter. “I also got a pretty interesting radio message about two hours ago. Seems a couple of our employees showed up at the park gate, pretty badly bruised, all cut up from running into thornbushes in the dark, and scared half to death. I don’t suppose either of you know anything about them?”
“Why should we know anything?” asked Lara.
Theibolt chuckled at her exaggerated innocence, then turned to Oliver. “How long will you need the car?”
“Just a few hours,” said Oliver. “I’ll leave it at the airport.”
“It could take hours to find it in that parking lot,” complained Theibolt.
“Wilson Airport, not Kenyatta.”
“Oh, that’s okay then,” said Theibolt. “Remember when that was the only airport in all of East Africa?”
“Yeah,” said Oliver. “There are probably still a couple of us who remember.”
“Damned jet planes damned near put it out of business,” said Theibolt. “It had one of the best bars in town, too. You’d sit there, have a couple of gin and tonics waiting for the plane to land, pick up your clients, drive ’em through the Nairobi Park so they could get their first look at some of the game they’d be hunting, and then haul ’em off to the Norfolk or the New Stanley. Now everything is jet planes and computers and the like.” He shook his head sadly. “Time just kind of snuck up when we weren’t looking and passed us by, Malcolm.”
“It happens to everyone sooner or later,” answered Oliver. “At least we’re still working.”
“Pointing out elephants at sixty yards and explaining to the tourists why they can’t walk up and pet one,” snorted Theibolt. “Ah, well, I’m in a country I love and I’m getting paid for what I do. Not much sense feeling sorry for myself.” He handed a set of keys to Oliver. “Here you are. It’s the zebra-striped safari car.”
“I hate those stripes,” said Oliver disgustedly. “I’d love to have the tour operator who thought up those damned things lined up in my sights.” He made a face. “They’re just out-and-out ugly. When the game notices them at all, they run the other direction.” He turned to Lara. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
He led her to the car.
“What’s all that stuff in the back?” asked Lara, looking in through the window.
“Looks like a tent,” answered Oliver. He opened the back door. “Yeah, that’s what it is. If the rangers can’t make it back by dark, it’s safer to set up the tent than risk running into an animal.”
She put her pistols in the backpack, they got in, and twenty minutes later they passed through the gates and were out of the park. Oliver turned south and headed for Nairobi. When they were a few minutes out of the city Lara turned to him.
“It’s only eight-thirty,” she said, “and we left without eating. Have we got time for breakfast?”
“Yes, we’ve got a couple of hours. There’s never a crowd at Wilson. Most of the flights are little five-seat charters, or the occasional DC-3 taking tourists to the Maasai Mara.” He paused thoughtfully. “As long as we have time, I might as well take you to my favorite local restaurant.”
“I thought that was the Carnivore.”
“I said local—where I live.”
Before long they were on Ngong Road, and they soon pulled up to a very British-looking Tudor-style building.
“The Horseman,” announced Oliver, getting out of the car. He pointed to a rail in front of the building. “That’s from the old days, when the only way to get here was on horseback. I think the Yanks call it a hitching post.”
They entered the restaurant. The walls were covered in a burgundy fabric, and the curtains were held back with brass hooks. Prints of horses were everywhere. Most of the customers were
ex-pat Brits who lived in the area.
“It’s a nice place to come if you want to get away from the tourists,” Oliver told her as they were ushered to a table. A waiter took their order, and a few moments later brought their breakfast to the table. Lara feasted on a mushroom omelet made from ostrich eggs.
“Interesting taste,” she commented.
“You use what you’ve got,” he explained. “Someday I’ll get you a pizza made with eland cheese and warthog sausage.”
When they finished they went back out to the car.
“We’ll be an hour early,” said Oliver, “but the airport’s public rooms are comfortable. Besides, I don’t know what our pilot looks like; he’s going to have to hunt us up.”
“I thought you knew him,” said Lara.
“I know his boss,” answered Oliver. “An American who flew close to a hundred missions in Vietnam, or so I’m told. When they told him he was too old to fly in the Gulf War, he came out here, bought himself a few Piper Cubs, and went into the charter business. I use his company whenever I have to take a client to Marsabit or Lamu.”
“Why?”
“Marsabit’s across two hundred and fifty miles of bandit-filled desert, and there are no roads to Lamu, so we fly to those two locations. Not many people go to Marsabit these days, but that’s where the greatest elephant of them all used to live.”
“Ahmed of Marsabit,” said Lara. “I’ve read about him.”
“He was the only elephant ever protected by presidential decree,” said Oliver. “He had three or four armed guards who accompanied him everywhere he went until the day he died.”
“Did you ever see him?”
“Not in the flesh, but his skeleton’s at the Nairobi Museum. I’ll take you there someday.”
He turned onto Langata Road.
“Isn’t that the Nairobi Game Park?” asked Lara as they began driving past a seemingly-endless fence.