The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [74]
Yet every time she started to drift off, she came back to wakefulness with the certainty that there was one more piece of the puzzle to solve, perhaps the most important piece. She was still wondering what it was when the plane touched down at the Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Nairobi.
PART III
KENYA
25
No one was waiting for Lara in the terminal when she got off the plane. She showed her passport to the immigration officer, then went to the baggage claim. She half-expected that her leather shoulder bag wouldn’t make it through, but it was there, waiting for her.
She looked around for Malcolm Oliver, couldn’t find him, and finally decided to take a cab to the Norfolk Hotel. As she stepped through the doors leading from baggage claim to the airport’s entrance, a tanned, white-haired man wearing a khaki shirt and shorts walked up to her and threw his arms around her.
“Welcome back!” said Malcolm Oliver. “It’s been a while.”
“I’m glad to see you,” responded Lara. “I expected to find you at the gate.”
“International flight,” he said. “We’re not allowed to meet you until you’ve passed through immigration and customs.”
“Of course,” she said. “I forgot. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“Well, come along, and you can tell me about it over dinner.” He stared at her and frowned. “You’ve lost some weight.”
“A bit,” she acknowledged.
“The message I got was rather mysterious,” said Oliver, as he led her to his car. “Some Arab phoned me, explained that he was Omar’s uncle—as if I was expected to know who Omar is—and told me your life was in danger and I had to meet you here. Then I checked and found your telex, which was a lot less melodramatic, but on the other hand, you’ve never come here on just a few hours’ notice before. What’s going on?”
“We’ll talk in the car or during dinner,” said Lara. “I don’t want to be overheard.”
“Whatever you say.”
They reached his green Land Rover and he opened the door for her.
“A new one, I see,” she noted.
“Same as the old one, but with a lot less safaris under her belt,” answered Malcolm. “Removable top, four-wheel drive”—he reached under his seat and carefully pulled out a .44 Magnum—“and this.”
She smiled. “Why should I be the only one with illegal weapons?”
“Oh, I’m legal,” he answered. “I spent a year on the police force back in seventy-eight, right after they put an end to hunting. I never quite resigned, so I’m still permitted to carry it.”
“What do you mean, you never quite resigned?” she asked as he pulled out of the airport and turned onto Langata Road.
“I wasn’t corrupt enough for that particular administration,” he replied. “So after I arrested a number of politicians, I was asked to take a leave of absence. It’s been about a quarter of a century, and no one has ever actually fired me, so I’m still officially on the force. I’ve even made an occasional arrest up in the Northern Frontier District, when Somali bandits would stop my car and try to rob my clients.”
“Keep it loaded,” she said, nodding toward the gun. “We might run into worse things than bandits.”
“Happy to,” said Oliver. “You can tell me what kind of things in a moment.”
“Why are you slowing down?” she asked. “The Norfolk is fifteen or twenty minutes away yet.”
“You need some meat on those bones,” said Oliver. “We’re pulling in here.”
“Where is here?”
“The Carnivore,” he said. “I took you here on your last safari, remember?”
“Yes,” she said. “I loved it. But we went after dark. I had no idea it was so close to the airport.”
Oliver parked and escorted her to an outdoor table. There was a huge, Brazilian-style spit, and at least a dozen game meats of varying types were cooking on it. It smelled so good, and she’d been hungry for so many days, that Lara was afraid she might begin salivating.
“What would you like to drink?” asked Oliver as a waiter approached.
“Just a cola or an orange pop.”
He ordered two gin and tonics plus a Coke, and the waiter went off to the bar to get them.
“Two?” she said, raising