The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [79]
If he expected a reply he was disappointed, because Lara remained silent. A few minutes later they pulled up to a lovely old Tudor mansion that looked like it would be more at home in Surrey or Tumbridge Wells.
Oliver walked up to the desk, spoke softly in Swahili, then turned to Lara.
“Do you have any Kenya shillings with you?” he asked.
She pulled out a wad, and he took half of it, handing it to the desk clerk.
“I thought they knew you here,” she said as he walked her up the stairs to their adjacent rooms.
“They do,” said Oliver.
“Then why did they ask you to pay up front? And why don’t they take credit cards?”
“Credit cards can be traced,” he said. “And I didn’t pay up front.”
“Then what was that all about?”
“A third of it was to keep their mouths shut if anyone should come around asking about us.”
“And the other two-thirds?”
He smiled. “To make them pretend they didn’t see you walk in wearing a pair of pistols. They may seem like part of your clothing to you, but they do tend to make other people very nervous.”
“Damn! I forgot all about them!”
“No problem. It’s all taken care of.” They stopped in front of a heavy oak door and he handed her a key. “Now I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you for breakfast.”
She entered the room. It needed some decorating and updating, but it was clean, and that was all that mattered to her. She took a quick shower, then lay down and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
She awoke to the singing of birds. She put on her clothes, then walked to the window and looked out. The sun was up, a handful of diners were sitting at tables on the lawn, and the sight and smell of the food seemed to have attracted all the local birdlife.
She walked down the stairs and went outside, where she found Oliver already seated at a table, sipping a cup of coffee.
“Coffee?” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“I know it’s sinful for an Englishman,” he explained, “but I’ve had so many American clients who insist on starting the day with it that I’ve fallen into the habit.”
A white-jacketed Kikuyu waiter approached and asked for her order.
“I haven’t seen the menu yet,” she said. “I’ll have some tea when you bring it.”
“Yes, Memsaab,” he said, bowing slightly and heading off to the kitchen.
“Have a banana or a piece of melon while you’re waiting,” suggested Oliver, indicating the bowl of fruit in the middle of the table.
She reached for the bowl and a small starling started screeching.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked it. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s impolite to beg at the table?”
Nobody ever had, and it walked boldly up to her.
“All right,” she said, picking up a small grape and holding it out for him.
It stared at the grape for a moment, then reached forward and took it out of her hand.
“How did you sleep?” inquired Oliver.
“Better than I have in days,” she replied. “I was exhausted, and that was a very comfortable bed. Now I’m ready to eat.” She paused. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“We’re leaving,” said Oliver, suddenly tense.
“When?”
“Right this second.”
“What about breakfast?”
“You don’t want it,” said Oliver, pointing to the starling, which lay on the ground, twitching feebly. As she turned to look at it, it died.
“No, I don’t,” she agreed, getting to her feet.
“Let’s go!” said Oliver urgently.
“Just a minute,” she said. “Someone tried to kill us. Let’s find out who.”
“They know who you are. You don’t know who they are, or how they found you, or even how many of them there are. A betting man wouldn’t take those odds.”
She considered it for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. Let’s get out of here.”
She was actually surprised that they made it to the car without getting shot at.
27
Oliver drove north on unpaved bumpy roads for an hour, then headed east toward the mountains.
“Mount Kenya?” asked Lara, staring at the white-capped peak to the country’s tallest mountain.
He shook his head. “Too many tourists up at Bill Holden’s old place.”