Botha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking too much, counselor,” he warned. “You want to get emotional? You should be thinking about that little poes you got right here. Advocate Hungry Khoza. That skirt is property, too. How long you been fucking the very special prosecutor?”

Klay came out of his chair, his fist in the air. Suddenly he was down, his face slammed into the tabletop, Botha leaning all his weight on Klay’s locked arm. Botha put his mouth against Klay’s ear. “Know your target, Tom. Didn’t they teach you that in Assessments?”

“Assessments” was a CIA term.

“Take your fucking hands off me.” Klay rose from the table, lifting Botha off the ground with him. His chair crashed to the floor and the office door opened. Jacob entered with his nightstick drawn. Botha stepped away from Klay. He raised a hand and Jacob paused. Botha tilted his head toward the door, and Jacob backed out of the office and closed the door behind him.

Klay wiped blood from his nose and lip.

“You were the gun,” Botha said calmly, retaking his seat. “Not me, counselor.”

Klay spat. Botha wiped Klay’s blood and spit off his cheek with the back of his hand.

“I was the gun? The fuck are you talking about?” Klay said.

Botha looked at Klay’s untouched orange. “I have a client. American. Very powerful guy. I been to the States many times. Many, many times. Did you know that? Miami. Dallas. Vegas. This guy’s got a big place in Zim, bigger than the King Ranch. Beautiful fucking place. Used to be mine until I sold it to him. The Kimber, it’s called. Anyway, this client, he wants a hunt. Always does after a big deal goes off. And he makes some big fucking deals. This time he’s blooding his kid. Wants a good lion for her and then something bigger for himself. Gets off on it. My PH tells him he knows a buff. Great big dagga boy I been saving for myself.” Botha spread his arms above his head to indicate the buffalo’s wide horns. “Minotaur. Client says he wants to get his daughter her lion, take Minotaur, then out. Boys set up camp for him, bait up the lion. Only she can’t take the shot, wants to tranquilize it for a school project. Client shoots the lion, then snotklaps her. Pop!” Botha swung his hand. “Put her on a plane home that night. Next day, my trackers locate his buff. Jump in the bakkie. There he is. Bigger than God, and not enjoying his age. Isaac sets up the shooting sticks. Njovu gets the truck ready.”