by Alex Archer
The doctor shook his head. “Robert must have been into his cups when he wrote that one, Ms. Creed. What on earth do Moby Dick and an elephant named Tantor have to do with a lost city in the middle of the Kalahari Desert?”
Annja looked at him, her eyes sparkling with the challenge of it all.
“Believe it or not, your friend Robert is actually being very clear. To find the next clue, I have to track down a white elephant in the middle of an elephant graveyard and play it some music.”
“Of course. How silly of me!” Henry said, but Annja just laughed.
“Sounds kind of fun, actually,” she said with another grin.
15
“There’s no such thing as an elephant graveyard, never mind a white elephant. Robert must be pulling your leg.”
Annja shook her head. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t have the feel of a practical joke. He went to a lot of trouble to put these clues together and I can’t see anyone doing that unless they were serious about the end result.”
While she couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility that it was an elaborate hoax, Annja believed Humphrey wanted someone to come after him. That much seemed clear.
“What if he wasn’t being literal?” she asked. “According to legend, the elephant graveyard is a place where old elephants go to die, right? Can you think of anywhere that elephants gather in a group? Somewhere that might also be related to the word white?”
Henry waved at the landscape outside the window. “This is the Kalahari and in the Kalahari all creatures, great and small, including elephants, gather at the watering hole.”
But that was too simple. Anyone with half a brain could figure that one out. Humphrey’s previous clue had required more mental dexterity than that and she expected him to make things harder with each passing clue, not easier.
She frowned. “That’s pretty obvious.”
Henry shrugged. “You’re the expert. Besides, you’d have a hell of a time figuring out which watering hole, anyway. Too bad we can’t just ask the San.”
Annja saw him stiffen as he said it and knew he’d just hit upon something.
“What is it?”
“The San!” he said, snapping his fingers. “That’s got to be it.”
Henry hustled over to his desk and dug in one of the drawers until he found a topographical map. He glanced at the piles on top of his desk and then opted for the floor in front of it instead, spreading out the map so Annja could see it, as well.
He pointed to an area south of their present position and just north of a low range of mountains.
“The government forced most of the San tribesmen to relocate out of the reserve, allegedly for their own protection. A small group of them refused to leave and retreated to a valley at the base of these mountains. It doesn’t have an official name but the locals call it the ‘white valley’ due to the presence of a particular flower that grows there in abundance.”
“A flower with white petals, no doubt,” Annja said.
The doctor grinned. “Precisely. But it’s even better than that.”
Annja waited for him to deliver the punch line.
“This particular group of the San,” he said smugly, “call themselves the People of the Elephant.”
* * *
SATISFIED THAT SHE and Henry had deciphered the clue properly, Annja set about making arrangements to have Lenny transported to the hospital. Using the mission’s satellite phone, Annja put in a call to Doug in New York, explained the situation and requested that he send a helicopter to pick up Lenny. Once he finally stopped ranting about the cost of aviation fuel, reluctantly Doug agreed. He suggested that Annja return, as well, but she reminded him that they needed the footage to replace the failed bat man piece and that they had very little time to get what they needed. The helicopter wouldn’t arrive until midafternoon the next day, but Annja wasn’t going to wait. She intended to be back on Humphrey’s trail first thing in the morning, she told Doug. She gave him the number to Dr. Crane’s satellite phone to pass on to the helicopter pilot in case they ran into any difficulty finding the place. With the details settled, she hung up and went in to see Lenny.
He was awake when she stepped into his room and even managed a smile.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
Lenny’s skin had an odd gray pallor to it, no doubt a result of the blood he’d lost, but he was sitting propped up by a couple of pillows behind his back.
“All right. Guess I jigged when I should have jagged,” he said.
“You’re just not used to having people shoot at you, but I’ll give you points for trying,” Annja replied with a laugh.
“Thanks. You’re a doll.”
“Anytime, man, anytime.”
Lenny changed position slightly and winced. Apparently the pain meds were wearing off. “So now what?” he asked once he was comfortable again.
“Now you get to take a little helicopter ride back to Maun and spend about a week in the hospital waiting for that leg to heal.”
Lenny didn’t miss what she’d left unsaid. “And you?”
Annja shrugged. “The show must go on.”
“You can’t be serious?” Lenny exclaimed. “Somebody was shooting at us! What if they’re out there lying in wait even now? The minute you leave the compound they’ll be all over you again, except this time you’ll be alone.”
Annja held up her hands. “Whoa! Easy there, big guy, we don’t want you pulling out any of those stitches.”
“Be serious, Annja!”
“I am being serious. Tear out those stitches and Dr. Crane will have my head on a spike. Now, why on earth would poachers who we never got anywhere near, wait around to finish off the nonwitnesses?”
Lenny looked annoyed as he said, “I mean it about the gunmen.”
“You mean the poachers. And don’t worry. Dr. Crane called the authorities to let them know about the elephant.”
“How do we know they were poachers? Did you get a look at any of them? What if they weren’t poachers at all? What if it was that idiot Porter again?”
Annja bit off the hot retort that was already forming on her lips. Lenny was right. How did she know it had been poachers? There was circumstantial evidence to suggest that was the case, but if she really looked at it closely that’s all it was—circumstantial. And Porter had tried twice before to take his father’s drawing and notes from her. While chances were good that it had been poachers who’d attacked them and were now long gone, she couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility that her new enemy had set a trap for her and she’d been lucky to survive.
Fine. I’ll be careful. And I’ll make sure that Porter can’t follow me, if indeed he is out there watching us.
Lenny must have seen the change in her expression. “What are you going to do?” he asked, more gently this time.
“Just what we planned to do,” Annja replied. “Find out what happened to Humphrey.”
“Annja...”
She waved away his concerns with one hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”
* * *
ANNJA ROSE ABOUT AN HOUR before dawn, grabbed her backpack and slipped out of her room. She found Henry waiting in the kitchen, a thermos in his hand.
“Thought you might need this.”
“Coffee?”
Henry shook his head. “Lenny said you preferred something stronger.”
Annja twisted the cap off. The sweet aroma of hot cocoa wafted out of the open thermos.
“Leave it to the doctor to have just the right medicine,” she said with relish.
“You sure about this hunt, Annja?” he asked. “Might be better to just catch the flight back with your cameraman.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine, Henry,” she said in a tone that made it clear she would brook no further argument. Truth was she’d been in far worse situations than this since taking up Joan of Arc’s sword, but the doctor didn’t need to know all that.
“All right, all
right,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Anything special I need to do once the medevac flight arrives?”
“No. The network’s people should handle everything. You might want to keep Lenny sedated, though.”
“Why’s that?” Henry asked. “Does he hate to fly?”
“Oh, it’s not flying he hates,” she said with a smile. “It’s helicopters. Probably be best if he’s already aboard—no, better yet, in the air—before he wakes up.”
They laughed together and then said their goodbyes. As Annja climbed into her truck she felt strongly that Lenny was in good hands.
Now the rest of the expedition was up to her.
16
One of Porter’s men shook him awake shortly before dawn. “She’s leaving, sir,” he said, and that was all it took to get Porter up and moving. He had no intention of letting Annja Creed get away from him.
He stepped out of the truck and over to where Bryant was leaning against a large rock, watching the compound through a pair of binoculars. Even without them Porter could see the headlights in the distance, the fencing surrounding the property momentarily visible, caught in the vehicle’s illumination.
“What have we got, Bryant?”
The other man spoke without taking his gaze off the moving target. “It’s the Nissan they arrived in, sir. The tracker confirms it.”
Porter glanced at the satellite map on the laptop computer set up on the tailgate of the truck. A red blip could be seen moving slowly away from the dot on the map symbolizing the compound before them. He couldn’t hold back a grin. Bryant had the foresight to plant that transmitter on the undercarriage of Creed’s vehicle when he’d flattened the tires. It had been a stroke of genius. Now all he had to do was wait until she got a fair distance away from the compound and then move in to take back what was his by right.
He’d have that map soon enough.
“Tell the men to load up. I want to be ready to move out after her in ten minutes.”
Bryant nodded. “You got it, boss.”
In the end it took them closer to fifteen, but that was good enough for Porter. He sat in the back of the lead SUV, with the computer in his lap. Bryant was driving and another of Porter’s armed guards rode in the passenger seat. The plan was simple. Once they caught up with their target they would box her in and bring her to a stop. Then they would take the map from her, by force if necessary. If Creed ended up injured in the process, so be it.
Perhaps the next time she’ll think twice about interfering in family business.
Bryant had activated their GPS system, so now Porter had two dots to follow on the laptop screen—a red one, signifying Creed’s vehicle, and a blue one, indicating their own. He took particular glee from watching the distance between the two shrink, until they were practically on top of each other. He was about to say something to Bryant when the other man beat him to it.
“There!” Bryant said, pointing at the red taillights that had just come into view ahead of them.
Creed tried to run—Porter would have been disappointed if she hadn’t—but with three vehicles against her one it didn’t take long for them to force her to a halt.
Bryant brought their vehicle to a stop about ten feet behind Creed’s. The vehicles driven by Porter’s other men were stopped roughly the same distance ahead of Creed’s, but on opposite sides of her vehicle and angled toward each other to keep her from driving forward.
For a moment, no one moved. Creed’s Nissan was pinned in the glare of the headlights from Porter’s Land Rover. Porter could see someone sitting in the driver’s seat, but the angle kept him from seeing her, never mind making out the expression on her face. He’d been hoping to see Creed cower in fear, given the trouble she’d caused him over the past few days.
Now he had her, though. Like a rat caught in a trap.
He got out of the car and sauntered toward the other vehicle, savoring the moment. He would make Creed grovel in the dirt before deciding whether he was going to let her live or not.
His vision of what that would be like was interrupted when the driver of the Nissan threw open the door and stepped out into the glare of the headlights.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Henry Crane asked, none too politely.
Porter couldn’t believe it. She’d tricked him again. It was all he could to do keep from rushing forward and beating the man senseless with his bare hands. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself before stepping forward into the light.
“You’re out rather early this morning, aren’t you, Dr. Crane?”
Crane glared at him. “What business is that of yours? Tell your men to move their trucks before I report you to the authorities in Maun.”
Porter let a hard smile cross his features. “We’re a long way from Maun, Dr. Crane.”
“I don’t care how far away we are. I’ll have your ass thrown in jail the minute you set foot inside the city limits if you don’t get those trucks out of my way this instant!”
His grin turned into a chuckle. He couldn’t help it. “I have to give you credit, Dr. Crane, you’ve got more spine than I suspected. But that’s not going to get you through the night intact, I’m afraid. Where is Creed?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Creed. Annja Creed. The woman whose truck you’re driving. Surely you remember her?”
For the first time Crane looked uncomfortable. “The truck is a rental and I’m returning it to the dealer.”
“I see.”
Porter looked over at Bryant and inclined his head in the truck’s direction. With a nod of understanding the other man stalked over, pushed Crane aside and climbed into the cab.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get out of there!” Crane yelled at him, but that didn’t stop Bryant from rooting around in the glove compartment. When he got back out of the car, he walked over to Porter and handed him some folded papers.
It was the contract from the rental car company. The truck had been rented in Maun, just as Crane claimed, but the paperwork was made out by someone named Lenny Davis. Porter didn’t recognize the name but it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together to understand that Davis was most likely the young man Creed was traveling with, the one Bryant had shot earlier that morning.
He looked up at Crane, who was now watching him warily.
“I’m not going to argue with you, Dr. Crane. You’ll tell me what I want to know, one way or another. Where is Annja Creed?”
Crane stood taller. “Your threats don’t mean anything to me, Malcolm Porter,” he replied in a cold, hard voice, making it clear that he knew exactly who he was talking to. “Touch me and I’ll have you up on charges faster than you can blink. We’re done here.”
Porter watched in amusement as Crane turned and took a few steps toward his truck. The arrogant idiot thought he was protected, did he? Perhaps it was time to teach him a lesson or two, then.
A wave of Porter’s hand was all it took. Bryant stepped forward and drove a meaty fist into the older man’s kidney, sending him to the ground in a squirming heap. Several of the other men moved in at that point and there were a flurry of kicks with hard-toed boots that left the doctor weeping in pain.
“Get him on his feet,” Porter demanded.
Bryant and one other man hauled the wounded Crane upright. The man’s lips were split and the right side of his face was already swollen enough to blind that eye. Porter stepped to the other side to make sure Crane could see him clearly and got in close.
“I told you I’d get my answers one way or another, Doctor. You should have listened to me when you had the chance.”
He stepped past the others, leaned inside the truck and pulled the lever to release the hood. Moving to the front of the vehicle, he opened the hood and propped it up out of the way.
“Bring him over here,” he said, and waited while Bryant dragged the suddenly meek Dr. Crane around to the front of the vehicle.
Porter
held his hand over the engine. The truck had been driven hard in the desert heat and waves of heat were still rolling off the engine block.
He pointed to the smooth surface of the top of the engine block and said to Bryant, “Make sure it’s the left side, so he can see it coming.”
Two of Bryant’s men stepped up and held the doctor steady while Bryant began forcing the man’s face downward toward the hot engine block.
Suddenly recognizing that the abuse he’d endured wasn’t yet over, Crane began thrashing, trying to free himself from the men’s grip. They were far too strong, however, and in seconds his face was inches away from the scorching metal.
“Wait!” he cried, the word garbled through his swollen lips. “I’ll tell you where she’s gone!”
Porter scowled at Bryant when the man glanced up at him. He hadn’t given the order to stop.
Crane’s face moved another inch closer to the heated metal.
“No! No! I can tell you where she’s gone! Don’t do this! Please!” Crane screamed.
Bryant exerted more pressure, the doctor’s face moving inexorably toward the engine block.
“Please, I beg you! I’ll tell you about the clue!”
Porter snapped his fingers and Bryant jerked Crane’s face up.
“The clue? What clue?” Porter asked.
The doctor couldn’t talk fast enough. He told Porter that the map he was looking for wasn’t really a map, but an image of the destination his father had been searching for, the Lost City of the Kalahari. He told him how Humphrey had left a clue with the image that had led Annja to his doorstep and how he, Crane, had then handed off the envelope to her that Humphrey had asked him to hold on his behalf.
“What was in the envelope?” Porter asked.
“Another clue.”
“Do you remember what the clue said?”
Crane nodded.
“Well?”
He told him.
Porter cocked his head to one side, studying the doctor. “Why wasn’t I given this envelope after my father disappeared?”