Fisher said, "I didn't even realize it until the third or fourth--or was it the fifth?--shot. I don't know; it was a blur."

"And this," the constable said, waving his pencil at the three bodies. "You did this?"

"Yeah . . . uh, I guess. I was in the . . . in the army, the U.S. Army--the first Gulf War. Training, I guess. It just took over. I don't know, it happened so fast. I don't feel so good . . . Can I sit down?" The constable cupped Fisher's elbow and guided him to a rock.

They watched as the ambulance finished loading Jimiyu aboard, then pulled away.

"Is he going to be okay?" Fisher asked.

"It appears so. So tell me again how his happened. From start to finish, if you please."

Fisher did so, telling the same story, but not the exact same way.

"And this knife you used . . . it's the one in the dirt there?"

"Yeah, that's it. Am I in trouble? They didn't really give me a chance. When I crawled out of the car, they were pulling up. I stumbled around the Rover, and there he was, with the gun . . ."

"I will forward my report to my chief, of course, but providing we find nothing contradictory here, a written statement from you and your friend should suffice. You are staying here locally?"

Fisher nodded. "In Nairobi, at a friend's." Fisher gave him Aly's contact information.

"Do you wish to go to the hospital?" the constable asked.

"Uh . . . no, I don't think so."

"I will call your rental car agency and inform them of the incident. They'll arrange another vehicle for you, I'm sure."

"Thank you."

"How long will you be staying in Kenya?"

"Another day or two, I guess. I'll go to the hospital, I think, and see how Jimiyu's doing, then . . . I don't know."

But he did know. More than ever he wanted to find out what was so important about Niles Wondrash and the Sunstarthat Bolot Omurbai would send three killers halfway across the globe to keep secret.

33

0deg 17' SOUTH, 34deg 50' EAST

FISHERsteered the Toyota Highlander off the road and coasted to a stop, his tires crunching on gravel. Through his windshield was a chest-high stockade fence bearing a sun-bleached, vine-entangled sign: RAKWARA WHCP (WATER HYACINTH CONTROL PROJECT) HEADQUARTERS. Through the trees he could see a ranch-style building. Faint strains of Carly Simon's "You're So Vain," mixed with the chirps and buzzes of the jungle, filtered through the trees.

He checked his GPS unit. This was, literally, the end of the road. From here, he walked. He climbed out, walked to the rear of the Highlander, and pulled out his Granite Gear pack, then started sorting through the gear he'd managed to salvage from the Range Rover.

The constables had waited with him for the arrival of the tow truck from Kusa and a replacement car from the rental agency in Kisumu. Ostensibly making conversation, Fisher had asked the constables about the area--terrain, geology, history--and gotten in return much more than he'd bargained for. Both men had grown up along the shores of Lake Victoria and knew it intimately. In fact, one of them said as boys they used to search some of the shallower caves for pirate treasure.

"Caves?" Fisher asked.

"Yes," replied the constable. "Our word for them does not translate well." He thought for a moment, then held up an index finger. "In Mexico, I think, they have something similar--deep ponds--like shafts--with underwater caves."

" Cenotes," Fisher said.

"Yes, that's it. Cenotes."

A lightbulb came on in Fisher's head. The climbing gear in Wondrash's plane . . . He'd assumed it was climbing gear, but in what direction? Up or down? According to the legend, Wondrash and Oziri had flown straight into Kisumu then set off for Addis Ababa a few days later.

"No mountain climbing nearby?" Fisher asked.

"Mountain climbing? No, not near the lake. Mount Kenya, perhaps, but that's closer to Nairobi."

So, what,Fisher thought, had Wondrash and Oziri been doing with climbing gear?

ONCEsatisfied with his pack's contents and weight distribution, Fisher set it aside and dialed Grimsdottir. Lambert was also on the line: "What's going on? What happened?"

Fisher explained, then said, "Jimiyu's going to be fine. I called the hospital and talked to the doctor personally. As for the police, I'm pretty sure they bought it. I'm due in the Kisumu District headquarters day after tomorrow to write my statement."

"And you're sure they were Kyrgyz?"

"I'm sure."

"Then clearly we've touched a nerve. The very fact that he sent his own men rather than hiring locally says something. Grim, what can you give us on topography?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. If there are cenote-like caves in the area, they are not listed, and they don't show up on satellite. Sorry, Sam."

"If there's something there, I'll find it," Fisher said.

THEpath led him away from the WHCP Headquarters building and deeper into the forest, winding northwest toward Lake Victoria. The terrain steadily lost elevation, and the forest slowly turned more junglelike. On either side of the trail, the ground appeared spongy, and soon Fisher heard the croaking of frogs.

After an hour's walk, he stopped and studied the GPS's screen. This was the area. He was a quarter mile from the lakeshore. He turned his body, checking each of the cardinal directions, until he was oriented, then pulled Jimiyu's machete from his belt, stepped off the trail, and started hacking.

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the trees and found himself facing a craggy rock wall entwined with vines and dotted with pockets of bright red flowers. He craned his neck upward. The wall, only ten feet high, was topped by a berm of shrubs. He climbed to the top, then boosted himself over the lip, wriggled through the foliage, and found himself lying on a narrow stone shelf. Across from him, six feet away, was a matching shelf, and between the two, a ten-foot-wide crevice. Fisher peered over the edge. The crevice dropped away into darkness. He picked up a stone and dropped it in. A second later he heard a faint splash.

TENminutes later, with a few essential items transferred from his Granite Gear to his waist pack, he secured the rope to a nearby tree, rigged his rappelling harness, and started down the crevice. After twenty feet the light dimmed enough that he flipped on his headlamp. The walls were comprised of jagged, volcanic rock mottled gray brown by lichen and molds. Above, the mouth of the crevice was a sun-filled slash through which Fisher could see overhanging branches. As his hand bumped over the thirty-foot knot in the rope, he stopped and sniffed the air. Water. Stagnant water. Somewhere below he heard dripping, echoing through a larger space. His heart rate increased. Then at fifty feet, with only ten feet of rope remaining, his groping foot plunged into water. Carefully, a few inches at a time, he lowered himself until his feet touched solid stone. The water, surprisingly cold, came up to his knees.

He unraveled the rope from the descender ring, then shined his headlamp left, down the length of the crevice, then right. He saw nothing but darkness. Which way?He thought.