Rapp had seen him on news programs over the years but hadn’t paid much attention. Another do-gooder. More impressive than the rest, but not fundamentally different. A lot of pie-in-the-sky ideas that sounded great in a conference room full of geniuses but that would crash and burn the moment they were released into the wild. Now that he’d met the man, though, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe Ward really could get some of his grand plans off the ground. The odds were still low, but possibly not the zero percent that Rapp would have bet on a few weeks ago.

The path cut right, and he followed two separate sets of footprints, one booted and spread out in long, confident strides; the other shuffling along in bare feet. Finally, he came upon Bruno McGraw leaning against a tree whittling the pieces of a chess set. He glanced up from a half-finished rook to acknowledge Rapp’s arrival and then went back to work.

The other man occupying the small clearing was positioned somewhat differently. Gideon Auma was naked, with hands flex-cuffed to a thick branch over his head. He’d been standing there all night, unable to rest without the plastic bands cutting into his wrists. He still had the energy to shoot Rapp the wild, messianic glare that he was so famous for, though. People like him found it hard to comprehend when they’d lost control. Rapp would have to spell it out for him.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Gideon,” he said, emptying the contents of his pack onto the ground and looking down at it disappointedly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I agree. You’re a connoisseur. Crucifixions, drawing and quartering people with motorbikes. I heard you actually have an iron maiden. Where do you even buy something like that? A museum?”

Auma stared silently at the household tools and kitchen implements at Rapp’s feet.

“A man like you deserves one of those big metal cows they used to roast people in. Or a proper rack. But I’m staying in a thousand-dollar-a-night tourist lodge, so I have to make do. Don’t worry, though. What I lack in equipment, I make up for with imagination.”

The messianic fervor in Auma’s eyes had been replaced by fear. Not surprising. People who derived pleasure from torturing others tended to be the easiest to break. For reasons a psychologist once tried to explain to him, the role reversal amplified the pain and anticipation.

“God…” the African managed to get out through his dry, disused throat. “God will strike you down.” The effort caused him to start coughing violently, putting pressure on his bound wrists. The agony was immediately visible in his face and Rapp turned his attention to the clear sky.

“Doesn’t look like lightning weather. But maybe you can conjure up a few clouds.”