“CIA can arrange things, Hungry. Arrange them so you don’t even know you’re working for them.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know this from personal experience?”

He shook his head. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen them succeed with people I know.”

She sensed his deception—he could see that—but he had accused Sehlalo of betraying her, and the absurdity of that distracted her.

She stood. “He’s a kind man, Tom. A good man. And an excellent detective.”

“Good enough to know about us?”

Her eyes narrowed to knife edges. “Good enough to know we all come with baggage. Smart enough not to open mine without asking.”

“And if he asks?”

“‘Tom Klay and I were close once, just never close enough.’”

Klay nodded. That seemed about right. He reflected on Sehlalo. The hostility he’d perceived scanned differently now. “He seems like a solid guy,” he said.

“You have a lot in common actually. It might surprise you to know he also had misgivings about Botha’s arrest. He said it was too easy the way we picked him up.” She shook her head. “Botha mentioned files? What did he say?”

“He said it at the end. He started out bragging about smuggling diamonds and sable antelope. When I asked him about Kenya, he told me some story about Terry Krieger. Then he said you’d gotten your hands on a cache of files. He said the files were dangerous. He told me to ask you where you got them.” Klay paused, but she did not respond. Instead, Hungry’s inscrutable expression had hardened. “He said you were on the wrong branch of the tree,” Klay continued.

“What story?”

“What do you mean?” Klay asked.

“What story did he tell you about Terry Krieger?”

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

Pretoria, South Africa

Tell me exactly what he said about Krieger,” Hungry demanded.

Klay sat on the edge of the hotel bed and looked up at her. “He said Terry Krieger took his daughter hunting in Zimbabwe. A place called the Kimber.”

“It’s a hunting property,” Hungry said. “We think Botha transferred it to Krieger in advance of one of his trials.”

“That makes sense. Botha said he sold it, but he talked about the property like it was still his. He said Krieger was angry because his daughter wouldn’t shoot the lion, she wanted to dart it instead. Krieger hit her, shot the lion himself, and sent her home. The next day Krieger missed a shot on a buffalo, then shot a boy to distract its charge.”

“Murdered him?”

“That’s what Botha said.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this? Just another dead African child . . .” She rubbed her temples. “Julius said it couldn’t be coincidence, your coming here.”

“I don’t understand.”