A guard knocked on the door, then opened it. “Five minutes, Ras.” The guard was enormous with a shaved head and huge arms.

“Thanks, Thabo,” Botha said. “We’re just about finished, if that’s all right.”

“That’s all right.” Thabo closed the door.

Botha was on a roll now, so Klay didn’t interrupt. “I’m out now, and I’m going to stay that way. Ach.” Botha nodded at a portrait of Ncube hanging over the warden’s desk. “I was never a prisoner in here. I’m my own man wherever I am. You, you’re a prisoner wherever you go. Anyone ever tell you that? I saw it the moment you walked in here. Right proper dagga boy, looking for a fight, charge anything that moves. Reminded me of Minotaur. You remember him?”

“The myth?”

“No, my buffalo. The one Krieger missed.” Botha eyed him. “You hearing me now? You were their prisoner before you ever walked through that gate.”

Klay held his tongue. There was plenty of truth in those words.

Botha moved his chair closer. “Tell me what you think is going on,” he said quietly.

“I saw the intel. They were your poachers in Kenya.”

“Ja. And Advocate Khoza saw intel I broke into that police station for rhino horn. Intel is what it needs to be. Somebody opened the police safe, stole that horn? But it wasn’t me. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Said it would bring you over. You’re obsessed with me, or some fucking shit . . .”

“Who said?”

Botha didn’t respond.

Klay tapped the spot on the table where he’d written the three letters. “You know they sent me . . .”

“Ach,” Botha scoffed.

“Krieger? You’re telling me this has all been Krieger. Terry Krieger’s running CIA?”

“Did I say running? You need it in black and white to see what’s in front of you? Not a lot of zebras in this world for a reason. Leverage, Klay. Leverage is the tail that wags the dog. I’ll ask you again, counselor. Cui bono?”

Klay responded in a low whisper. “They destroy the files, hang me out as Agency, it kills Hungry’s investigation. Ncube benefits.”

“And?”

“And I end up in here, falsely accused.”

“Come on, counselor. You can do better than that. And—”

“All right,” Klay said, his anger rising. “And they get rid of the Dogs, who found a link between intelligence services and Krieger. An investment fund. The South African was—”

“Mo Rademeyer,” Botha said. “Good oke. Greedy. Said goodbye to him personally.”

Klay sat back in his chair. “You did?”

Botha shrugged. “You think you’re not,” Botha said, “but you’re in the life deep as me. Maybe deeper. You were the gun. I told you. You don’t see that?”

“I was the gun? You’re talking about my stories?”

Botha laughed. “No one cares about your fucking stories, counselor.”