Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1 - KENYA COLONY, July 1920
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
AUTHOR’S NOTES
OTHER BOOKS IN THE JADE DEL CAMERON SERIES
Mark of the Lion
Stalking Ivory
The Serpent’s Daughter
OBSIDIAN
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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
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Copyright © Suzanne Arruda, 2009
All rights reserved
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Arruda, Suzanne Middendorf, 1954-
The leopard’s prey: a Jade del Cameron mystery/Suzanne Arruda.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-440-65594-4
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This book is dedicated with love to my brothers and
sisters: Dave, Michael, Nancy, and Cynthia
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY THANKS TO: the Pittsburg State University Axe Library Interlibrary Loan staff, for their tireless efforts to help me run down all the research books, especially the rogue Red Book; the National Wild Turkey Federation’s Women in the Outdoors program, for roping lessons; Terry (Tessa) McDermid, for her help as my writing buddy; James Arruda, for help explaining ailerons; Michael Arruda, for explaining dead-stick landing; Dr. Vic Sullivan, for his hints on how to sabotage a biplane; Mr. Ken Hyde of the Wright Experience, for sharing his vast knowledge and love of maintaining and flying Jennies; Barbara Brooks of Elefence International, for her input on raising leopard cubs; Mike and Nancy Brewer, for original and inspired musical accompaniment to my Web and publicity CDs; my NAL publicists, Catherine Milne and Tom Haushalter, for all their hard work; my agent, Susan Gleason, and my editor, Ellen Edwards, for their continued belief and efforts in the series; all my family: the Dad, James, Michael, Dave, Nancy, and Cynthia, for helping me shamelessly promote the books. I especially wish to thank Joe, the greatest husband and webmaster a writer could ever want, for all his help and support; and Wooly Bear for keeping her hair balls off the keyboard.
Any mistakes are my own, despite the best efforts of my excellent instructors.
CHAPTER 1
KENYA COLONY, July 1920
There is an African proverb that runs through many tribes.
“The foolish antelope cuts firewood for the leopard.” Basically, don’t give
your enemies any more help in establishing your demise
than they already possess.
—The Traveler
I’LL BE FINE.
Jade del Cameron wondered if those famous last words would soon end up gracing her headstone. The plan had seemed like a good one at the time, but it had been daylight then, the sun warm and benevolent. She’d watched the two Americans, Wayne Anderson and Franklin Cutter, enter the blind twenty yards away, and heard the three Kikuyu assistants settle into the tree that grew beside her. Soon after, darkness had swooped down upon the African landscape, a mythical black bird, immense, terrible, and predatory, devouring Jade’s previous cockiness. Her quivering limbs told her this had been one of her less intelligent ideas.
I’m safer in here than during the War in that Model T ambulance with shells pounding around me. But her heart didn’t believe her. It raced until the dull roaring filled her inner ears with a sound akin to a raging river. She took a deep breath and tried to relax by shifting her legs. The right calf immediately cramped, and she flexed her foot to relieve it. The cramp quit, but the left leg started twitching, the muscles fatigued from maintaining one position for over six hours in a two-foot-wide-by-three-foot-long-and-four-foot-high enclosure, built for something much smaller than a five-foot, seven-inch woman.
Get a grip on yourself. You’ve sat in blinds for longer than this before. That was from her head. Her stomach responded with, Yeah, but never as leopard bait. She shivered, her sweat-soaked shirt sucking heat from her body. When she had first entered the cage of lashed limbs, its stifling warmth had stolen every breath. Then, as Africa released its captured heat like a nightly sacrifice to Ngai, the Maker, she longed for some of that warmth. And all just to save a bit of Africa from itself.
The leopard in question was one of a pair that had menaced the pastoral tribes for several months. Both were slated for death for their crimes, the male first. It wasn’t his fault. Easy game had diminished as the colonists expanded their farms. The pair of young cats, hungry and desperate, had first taken to the goats, conveniently clustered into low pens. On his last raid, the male was driven off by a brave villager, but not before the cat had slashed the man’s leg and bitten him in the thigh. W
orse yet, at least as far as the residents of Parklands north of Nairobi were concerned, the cat had been seen stalking someone’s dog. The terrified boxer had raced onto the veranda and into his master’s house through a partially open window, his tail between his legs, leaving a puddle of urine on the new rug imported all the way from Turkey.
The arrival of the Perkins and Daley Zoological Company soon after this incident had seemed like a godsend to all. They wanted specimens for American zoos, the villagers and settlers wanted the leopards gone, and the goats and dogs wanted not to be eaten. It looked as if everyone, except the goats that would still be consumed eventually, would get his wish. The company suited Jade’s purposes, as well. She wanted to save these cats from extermination, and she needed the money.
Writing articles for the Traveler paid well enough, but traveling anywhere to write about a new location had grown more expensive, especially with the current petrol shortage. Even her photographic film seemed to cost more every time she picked up an order. It also gnawed at Jade’s conscience to take advantage of her friends, the Dunburys, by staying at their home. She longed for more independence. So after asking about the company and finding that they had a reputation for honesty, she hired on as a wrangler and photographer. Somehow, she hadn’t counted on ending up as leopard bait.
From lashed-together tree limbs, the company had built a double cage, one half for a goat, the other half for the cat. The leopard would try to get the goat from outside, but wouldn’t be able to drive its claws through the tight network of vegetation. It would finally notice that it could more easily see the prey if it looked through the open doorway into the empty half.
The illusion of accessibility was maintained by a double layer of bars, each constructed of branches lashed at right angles to one another, and each layer separated by a foot of space. In theory, the cat would enter, tripping the mechanism that would drop the door behind it. The men in the nearby tree would jump down and secure the door before the cat could get out. In theory.
This male had proved wary, and after two nights of sniffing and snarling around the outside of the cage, he’d slipped away and stalked the village instead. The Kikuyu said they’d heard his asthmatic “chuff” outside of the injured man’s hut.
Jade hadn’t been with the men those first two nights. So when they and two of the closest settlers, Alwyn Chalmers and Charles Harding, said the cat would now turn man killer and needed to be shot, Jade intervened with this solution, which now had her questioning her sanity. If the cat wanted a human, she argued, let it smell and see a human in the cage. For obvious reasons, no one else had volunteered to be the literal “scapegoat.”
Perhaps Jade had never really believed that the leopard would turn man-eater just because it had tasted human blood. It sounded like an old wives’ tale. In fact, she doubted the cat would even approach a cage with a human in it. But the settlers wanted the animal eradicated, and the expedition didn’t want to waste any more time trying to capture this pair. She was their last chance. Wild Africa, Jade noted, was disappearing, one animal at a time. She intended to save these two leopards even if it meant shipping them to a new home in Cincinnati or New York.
So why are my palms sweating? Jade knew why. She felt vulnerable. What if the leopard threw itself on top of the cage? Would the lashings hold against one hundred to one hundred forty pounds of snarling muscle? Did she trust the men to immediately release her once the animal was caged next to her? Why the hell didn’t I bring my rifle?
Of course, there wasn’t room to aim and fire, and anyway, the purpose was to save the cat, not kill it. With her right hand she reached down to the sheath on her boot, her fingers grazing the smooth antler-bone knife hilt. If she had to, she could cut the lashings and escape.
Just relax. Cutter and Anderson are out there. The two Americans seemed competent enough. Or maybe it was just their thick Chicago accents that gave the illusion of toughness. Both of them were solidly built, but could they handle a furious leopard?
Take a nap. It’s going to be dawn soon. Hard to nap when her heart was pounding one hundred times a minute. She felt her lungs constrict, as though the walls were closing in on her. She tugged at her shirt collar and gasped. It’s the cage! That was it. Suddenly she needed to get out, to feel air on her face and space around her body. Unfortunately, the release pin was on the outside.
She shoved her slender fingers up through the narrow gap and felt for the toggle. Nothing! Where’s the blasted pin? Jade forced her hand up farther, her knuckles scraping the rough wood, drawing blood. Her fingertips grazed the toggle, and for the first time, she wished she’d cultivated long fingernails. Just a little farther. There! Her index finger had the pin. She started to push it when she heard a tubercular cough.
Leopard! Jade jerked her fingers back inside the cage as something powerful brushed up against it. The soft glow from the gibbous moon, which had previously penetrated her compartment, disappeared as the leopard’s body blocked it. The animal sniffed, short whuffing snorts, as he analyzed her scent. When he exhaled, the hot scent of stale carrion flooded the enclosure. Jade instinctively pressed her back against the opposite side as the leopard snarled, the sound deep and rasping like a heavy saw through hard timber.
The cat pushed his shoulder against the cage, testing it. The lashings creaked under the pressure, and Jade felt subtle movement in the wood along her spine. Her sanctuary shifted a fraction but held. She slid her knife from its sheath and waited for the next jolt.
It came from on top when the leopard jumped up to try to gain entry from above. The limbs groaned, but the green wood didn’t crack. Jade heard the cat’s claws scrape against the cage as he tried to find a point of entry. In the moonlight, she could see his form more clearly than before. She thought she detected a thinness about his middle. The animal was more than hungry. He was ravenous. His raspy snarls grew in volume. So did his repeated scratching and probing.
A thin piece of leather snapped, two limbs separated and a paw appeared above her. His claws swiped at empty air as he tried to reach her. Time to get him off the roof. She reached up with her knife and pricked the soft padding. The leopard withdrew the paw with an angry scream and jumped off the cage and away from her.
He landed near the open door, and for the first time, the two stared at each other. The leopard’s eyes glowed with the night shine of a nocturnal animal, reflecting every fragment of moonlight back at her. Jade knew the men were getting worried out there, and if it was anything like what she felt, they would soon finish off this cat. No doubt the only reason they hadn’t tried to shoot it yet was fear of accidentally shooting her. She needed to draw the animal in. Jade pricked her finger on her knife-edge, and let the scent of her own blood fill the cage.
The cat stalked her with an unnerving slowness, his broad head low between his shoulders, pausing after each step. His pale amber eyes never left hers, hypnotizing his prey into immobility. Beads of cold sweat formed on Jade’s brow. She could literally feel them ooze out of her pores, a creeping sensation. She didn’t move. There was no place to run.
Another step and the cat hit the release catch. The door dropped, but the animal had hesitated again and it only hit him across the top of his rump and tail. The capture crew didn’t know that. They only heard the door swing downward followed by a high-pitched snarl.
Jade heard the men jump from the trees. He’s going to back out of the cage and kill them! She needed to bring him in all the way. She forced her hand, the one she’d pricked, through the narrow openings and swiped at the cat, taunting him. A splinter made a fresh gash and a few drops of blood landed on his nose.
“Come on, chui,” she yelled, goading the leopard with his Swahili name. “Dinner’s waiting.” The scent of blood drove the starving and infuriated animal to a fever pitch. He charged forward, slamming into the partition just as Jade jerked her hand back into her compartment.
She knew the men were now sliding the wooden beams across the door to secur
e it, but she couldn’t hear them. Her senses only noted the hideous, enraged screams and those eyes—those furious, smoldering yellow eyes, glowing with hatred.
Jade didn’t wait for the men to pull the pin and let her out. She sliced the lashings from her side of the prison and tumbled out into the African night, gasping for air.
One cat, one bit of Africa was saved from a death sentence, but somehow, Jade doubted that he’d ever be grateful to her. She heard a truck door slam and looked up to see one of her bosses approach. Brooklyn-born Hank Daley was built like a wrestler whose muscles had gone to flab over the years. His five foot six inches were capped by a sun-reddened face and receding hairline. A seven-inch scar on his right arm and a missing pinky finger on his right hand testified to his having survived some difficult captures in the past.
“That was one hell of a job, Jade,” he said, hitching up his pants. “I thought for a moment we were going to lose one of my men. You’re quite a daredevil.” The forty-three-year-old second-in-command pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, struck a match on a boot nail, and puffed away. Together they watched as the other men loaded the cage and the furious cat into the truck.
Jade hugged herself to keep from shivering, not from cold, but as an aftereffect of the rush of danger. She tried to divert herself by asking, “What’s next?”
“Well, there’s that other leopard a little farther north, the one by Harding’s spread,” Daley said, his cigarette bobbing as he spoke. “And I still need a young rhino, some zebra, a baboon or two. Got a line on some ostrich. I also want a cheetah. I understand you have a male. Care to sell him?”
Jade shook her head. “Biscuit’s not for sale, Mr. Daley. He saved my life and the life of a good friend this past January.”
“Biscuit, hunh.” He rubbed his chin stubble. “Well, if you should change your mind . . .”
“All loaded up, boss.” The speaker, Wayne Anderson, was a bulky, five-foot, ten-inch man with a shock of carrot red hair. He flashed a big smile at Jade. Next to him stood Franklin Cutter, a well-muscled, wiry man with straw blond hair.
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