Fever Dream - Douglas Preston [26]
“I’m aware of that, as well.” Pendergast turned. “Vincent, stay back, will you?” He fished in his pocket, withdrew the keys to the jeep, tossed them to D’Agosta. “Get to a safe distance if things go badly.”
“Are you bloody daft?” Wisley said, his voice shrill. “Didn’t you hear me? You’ll die, too!”
“Mr. Wisley, be a good fellow and walk forward. I do hate having to repeat myself.”
Still Wisley did not move.
“Indeed, I won’t ask again. In five seconds I will put a bullet through your left elbow. You’ll still be able to walk—and the shot will no doubt arouse the lions.”
Wisley took a step, stopped again. Then he took another step. One of the lions—a big male, with a wild tawny mane—rose lazily to his feet. He looked toward them, licking bloody chops. D’Agosta, hanging back, felt his stomach churn.
“All right!” Wisley said. “All right, I’ll tell you!”
“I’m all ears,” Pendergast said.
Wisley was shaking violently. “Let’s get back to the car!”
“Right here is fine with me. Better speak fast.”
“It was a, it was a setup.”
“Details, if you please.”
“I don’t know the details. Woking was the contact.”
Now two of the lionesses had risen, as well.
“Please, please,” Wisley begged, voice breaking. “For God’s sake, can’t we talk in the jeep?”
Pendergast seemed to consider this a moment. Then he nodded.
They returned to the vehicle at a rather brisker pace than they’d left it. As they climbed in and D’Agosta passed Pendergast the keys, he noticed the male lion moving toward them at a walk. Pendergast cranked the engine. The walk became a lope. The engine finally caught; Pendergast threw it into gear and slewed around just as the lion caught up, roaring and raking the side of the vehicle as it lurched past. D’Agosta glanced over his shoulder, heart hammering in his throat. The lion slowly dwindled behind them, finally disappearing.
They drove ten minutes in silence. Then Pendergast pulled over again, got out, and motioned for Wisley to do the same. D’Agosta followed suit, and they walked a short distance from the car.
Pendergast waved his Les Baer at Wisley. “On your knees.”
Wisley complied.
Pendergast handed him the bloody handkerchief. “All right. Tell me the rest.”
Wisley was still shaking violently. “I, I don’t know much else. There were two men. One was American, the other European. German, I think. They… they supplied the man-eating lion. Supposedly trained. They were well funded.”
“How did you know their nationalities?”
“I heard them. Behind the dining tent, talking to Woking. The night before the tourist was killed.”
“What did they look like?”
“It was night. I couldn’t see.”
Pendergast paused. “What did Woking do, exactly?”
“He set up the death of the tourist. He knew where the lion was waiting, he steered the tourist in that direction. Told him a warthog, a photo-op, was there.” Wisley swallowed. “He… he arranged for Nyala to load your wife’s gun with blanks.”
“So Nyala was in on it, too?”
Wisley nodded.
“What about Mfuni? The tracker?”
“Everyone was in on it.”
“These men you mention—you said they were well funded. How do you know?”
“They paid very well. Woking got fifty thousand to carry out the plan. I… I got twenty thousand for the use of the camp and to look the other way.”
“The lion was trained?”
“That’s what someone said.”
“How?”
“I don’t know how. I only know it was trained to kill on command—though anybody who thinks that can be done reliably is crazy.”
“Are you sure there were only two men?”
“I only heard two voices.”
Pendergast’s face set in a hard line. Once again, D’Agosta watched the FBI agent bring himself under control by the sheer force of his will. “Is there anything else?”
“No. Nothing. That’s all, I swear. We never spoke of it again.”
“Very well.” And then—with sudden, frightening speed—Pendergast grabbed Wisley by the hair, placed his gun against the man’s temple.
“No!” D’Agosta cried, placing a restraining hand on Pendergast’s arm.
Pendergast turned to look at him and D’Agosta was almost physically knocked back by the intensity of the agent