COME. FOLLOW.

He obeys, retreating but never backing down, locking eyes, still challenging the other until she falls out of view.

Tucker hurried away from the campsite, putting several hundred yards between them and the pack before slowing. He paused only long enough to run his fingers over Kane. Except for a few missing puffs of hair, he appeared unscathed.

As he’d hoped, Kane’s tactical vest, reinforced with Kevlar, had not only protected the shepherd, but also clearly spooked the female with its strangeness. She was happy to let them retreat.

Backtracking along their old trail, the return journey went much faster. They arrived at the camp shortly before noon and were greeted happily by Christopher and Anya.

Bukolov offered a gruff but surprisingly genuine “Glad you are not dead.”

While Anya and Bukolov prepared a cold lunch, Tucker recounted for Christopher his encounter with the guerrillas and wild dogs.

“You were lucky to survive that hungry pack, Mr. Tucker. And let us hope you are right about the soldiers, that they were simply passing through. Show me how far you mapped and we can plan the best course to avoid trouble.”

Half an hour later, they were all gathered over a set of maps and charts. Christopher and Tucker had settled on the safest route to reach De Klerk’s coordinates. But that was only one problem solved.

“Once there,” Tucker said, “we need to find that landmark De Klerk mentioned, something shaped like a boar’s head near a waterfall.”

He turned to Bukolov and Anya. They knew De Klerk’s history better than anyone. “In his diary of that siege, did De Klerk give any further clues about that waterfall. Like maybe some hint of its height?”

“No,” Bukolov said.

“How about whether it was spring fed or storm runoff?”

Anya shook her head. “De Klerk described the troop’s route into these mountains in only the vaguest terms.”

“Then we’re just going to have to get there and check every creek, stream, and trickle, looking for that waterfall.”

Christopher considered this. “We are at the end of our rainy season. That highland region will likely be flowing with many small creeks and waterfalls. Which is good and bad. Bad because there will be many spots to explore.”

Making for a long search . . .

Tucker pictured Felice closing in on them.

How much time did they have?

“How is it good?” Anya asked.

“The terrain here is hard and unforgiving. As a consequence, the creeks and river basins rarely change course. Year after year, they are the same. If the waterfall was flowing when your man was here, it is probably still flowing now.”

“So we won’t be on a wild-goose chase,” Tucker said. “The waterfall is somewhere up there.”

It was little consolation, but in this desolate environment, that was the best he could hope for.

Tucker rolled up the maps.

“Let’s go.”

35

March 21, 3:30 P.M.

Groot Karas Mountains, Namibia

Following Tucker’s map they made slow and steady progress—the operative word being slow.

Christopher steered the Rover eastward along the dirt road, slipping past the guerrillas’ campsite where Tucker and Kane had encountered the African wild dogs. A couple of miles after that, the trail vanished under them, so gradually that they had traveled several hundred yards before realizing they were simply in the trackless wilderness now.

Their new pattern became one of faltering stops and starts.

Every half mile or so, Tucker and Kane would have to climb out, hike to the highest vantage point, and scout the terrain ahead for signs of hidden bandits or guerrillas. They also charted the best path for the Rover, using both their eyes and the topographical maps.

As Christopher bounced up a rocky ravine, testing the extremes of the Range Rover’s off-road capabilities, Tucker’s GPS unit gave off a chime. He checked the screen.

“Getting close to De Klerk’s coordinates. Another quarter mile or so.” He glanced from the screen to the path of the ravine, calculating in his head. “It should be at the top of this next pass.”

The Rover climbed the last of the approach as the ravine’s walls narrowed to either side. It was a tight squeeze, but they finally reached the top of the pass and rode out onto a flat open plateau.

“Stop here,” Tucker said.

They all clambered from the Rover, exhausted but excited.

“We made it,” Anya said, sounding much too surprised.

Beyond that plateau, the landscape looked like a giant’s shattered staircase. Flat-topped mesas and fractured crooked-top plateaus spread outward, climbing higher and higher. Brighter glints reflected the sunlight, marking countless waterfalls cascading from the heights, draped like so much silver tinsel across the landscape.

Closer at hand, confronting them, rose a thirty-foot cliff. Two wide ravines cut into its face on either side, both large enough to drive the Rover into. Between them, they framed an unusual section of cliff, shaped like a triangular nose with a blunted tip. It stuck out toward them, but its slopes were still too steep to climb.

But it was the ravines that drew Tucker’s attention. The canyons were twins of each other, angling away from each other, like a giant shadowy V, only the legs of the V were slightly curved, like the upraised tusks of a—

“Boar’s head,” Bukolov muttered, sounding disappointed.

Tucker now appreciated the protruding cliff itself somewhat resembled a pig’s flattened snout—with the twin canyons forming its tusks.

Still, Tucker understood the doctor’s disenchantment. Somewhere buried in the back of his own head, he’d been picturing a magnificent granite boar’s skull spewing a glittering stream of water between its tusks, spilling its bounty into a roiling pool surrounded by blooming desert flowers.

The reality was much more mundane.

Yet still just as dangerous.

Tucker urged them to grab their packs and get moving again. He pointed to the two canyons in the rock face. “While we still have daylight, we should check both sides. Doctor Bukolov with me. Anya with Christopher. Everyone stay on the radio. Questions?”

There were none.

With Kane at his heels, Tucker and Bukolov headed for the ravine on the right. The other pair aimed for the cleft on the left.

Tucker hiked into the gorge first, trailed by Bukolov. It was about eight or nine feet wide, filled with sand and loose rock.

“How are we going to find water in here?” Bukolov asked.

“Kane.”

The shepherd pushed to his side. Dropping to a knee, Tucker tipped his canteen over his cupped palm and brought the water to Kane’s nose.

“SEEK.”

Kane turned away, his nose sniffing high.

You did it before, my friend. Do it again.

As if reading his mind, Kane looked up at Tucker and sprinted away, deeper down the ravine.

“He’s onto something. C’mon.”

The two men followed the shepherd, going slower, having to pick themselves over rubble and around boulders. They discovered Kane squatted before a section of rock wall on the left. When Tucker appeared, Kane let out a single bark. The dog jumped up, planting his front paws against the wall.

“Does that mean he’s found something?” Bukolov asked.

“Let’s find out.”

Tucker shrugged off his pack—then pulled out and unfolded a small shovel. Crossing to the wall, he jammed in the spade’s tip and gouged out a chunk of sandstone. He kept digging until he’d chipped a hole about six inches deep. It took some time and effort—but he was rewarded when he noted the change in color of the stone. Reaching in, he fingered some of the darker reddish-brown sand. The granules clung together a bit.

“It’s damp back here.”

“What does that mean?” Bukolov asked.