The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [87]
She put her pistols in the backpack, they got in, and twenty minutes later they passed through the gates and were out of the park. Oliver turned south and headed for Nairobi. When they were a few minutes out of the city Lara turned to him.
“It’s only eight-thirty,” she said, “and we left without eating. Have we got time for breakfast?”
“Yes, we’ve got a couple of hours. There’s never a crowd at Wilson. Most of the flights are little five-seat charters, or the occasional DC-3 taking tourists to the Maasai Mara.” He paused thoughtfully. “As long as we have time, I might as well take you to my favorite local restaurant.”
“I thought that was the Carnivore.”
“I said local—where I live.”
Before long they were on Ngong Road, and they soon pulled up to a very British-looking Tudor-style building.
“The Horseman,” announced Oliver, getting out of the car. He pointed to a rail in front of the building. “That’s from the old days, when the only way to get here was on horseback. I think the Yanks call it a hitching post.”
They entered the restaurant. The walls were covered in a burgundy fabric, and the curtains were held back with brass hooks. Prints of horses were everywhere. Most of the customers were ex-pat Brits who lived in the area.
“It’s a nice place to come if you want to get away from the tourists,” Oliver told her as they were ushered to a table. A waiter took their order, and a few moments later brought their breakfast to the table. Lara feasted on a mushroom omelet made from ostrich eggs.
“Interesting taste,” she commented.
“You use what you’ve got,” he explained. “Someday I’ll get you a pizza made with eland cheese and warthog sausage.”
When they finished they went back out to the car.
“We’ll be an hour early,” said Oliver, “but the airport’s public rooms are comfortable. Besides, I don’t know what our pilot looks like; he’s going to have to hunt us up.”
“I thought you knew him,” said Lara.
“I know his boss,” answered Oliver. “An American who flew close to a hundred missions in Vietnam, or so I’m told. When they told him he was too old to fly in the Gulf War, he came out here, bought himself a few Piper Cubs, and went into the charter business. I use his company whenever I have to take a client to Marsabit or Lamu.”
“Why?”
“Marsabit’s across two hundred and fifty miles of bandit-filled desert, and there are no roads to Lamu, so we fly to those two locations. Not many people go to Marsabit these days, but that’s where the greatest elephant of them all used to live.”
“Ahmed of Marsabit,” said Lara. “I’ve read about him.”
“He was the only elephant ever protected by presidential decree,” said Oliver. “He had three or four armed guards who accompanied him everywhere he went until the day he died.”
“Did you ever see him?”
“Not in the flesh, but his skeleton’s at the Nairobi Museum. I’ll take you there someday.”
He turned onto Langata Road.
“Isn’t that the Nairobi Game Park?” asked Lara as they began driving past a seemingly-endless fence.
“Right,” answered Oliver.
“It’s just amazing that you’ve got wild game within sight of the city’s taller buildings.”
“It’s a lovely park,” said Oliver. “Better than forty square miles, yet it’s actually within the Nairobi city limits. I’ll show it to you when we have some time.”
“You’ll show it to her now,” said a deep voice from directly behind them. They both turned in surprise and the car almost swerved off the road.
A white-garbed Arab sat in the backseat, a pistol in each hand, pointing toward each of them.
“Remove your shoulder bag very carefully, Lara Croft. One false move and I will not hesitate to kill you both right now.”
Alone, she might have ducked and gone for her knife, but she knew if she did he’d put a bullet into Oliver’s head, so she slipped her bag off and passed it to the backseat.
“Thank you,” he said. “Don’t even think about looking for your Magnum. I have already appropriated it.”
“You weren’t in the car when we left the