“Our donors care about our animals, Tom. He came out here, you know. Terry Krieger. Very knowledgeable in the bush. Said he’s always loved elephants. Wants to give something back. They all do it. Come to Africa. Wanting to cleanse themselves of something . . .”

Klay’s jaw muscles knotted.

“Perseus’s drones have knocked the hell out of our poachers. Herd stress has declined. Birth rates are rising. Mothers are producing again.” Bernard kicked a rock with his boot.

Klay waited.

“After our latest annual report came out, Nairobi said to us: ‘Right. Done and dusted. Wildlife sorted. Let’s approve the north-south rail line.’”

“That’s the play?”

“Krieger supports us. Anything we need, he says. But I hear otherwise from Nairobi. His interest is the Chinese and they want the railroad.” Bernard turned to him. “A north-south rail line would run straight through our land, Tom. Destroy our way of life. My family would have to leave here. My mother . . .” Bernard paused. “Why don’t you write about that?”

Klay looked away. A troop of baboons had emerged from the trees and was crossing a field of dry grass, led by a very large male. A baby sat on the big male’s head, its tiny hind foot causing the adult to squint and swat it away.

“A story on Perseus Group?” Klay shook his head. “That’s outside of scope. I’m here for Botha.”

“You do remember Congo, right?”

Klay ground his back teeth, still looking in the direction of the baboons. “I remember,” he said.

“All that great intelligence you’re able to pick up in Washington. I thought maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could get someone important to listen.”

Klay turned and studied Bernard, wondering what his friend knew. “Look,” he said, finally. “I’m just a hack. I’d have to spend, what? Three years to get into Perseus Group? Two at a minimum. Even then. Even if they gave me the pages, even if I didn’t mind spending the rest of my life buried in lawsuits—because they’d definitely sue me—even then, there’s no one to act. Who would prosecute Perseus Group—world’s biggest private military company? No one. Not here. Not in Congo. Not in the US. Nowhere. And that’s just the corporation. There’s no way I could get close to Terry Krieger. Even if I wanted to.”

“Even if you wanted to?”

“I take on fights I can win. I’m not—” Klay struggled to find a word to convey his meaning. He looked down. An ant crawled across his boot. “I am not a fucking safari ant.”

Bernard smiled.

“What?” Klay demanded.

Bernard nodded toward Klay’s foot. “The ant never works alone, Tom. Didn’t you know that?”