The door opened and Thabo stuck his head in. “Time, Ras.”

“Thank you, Thabo. I’ll wrap up. Just one minute, please.”

Thabo nodded.

“Think bigger, Klay. A fucking magazine? An investment fund? That’s nothing. It’s nothing to me, and I’m almost nothing to him. Krieger’s mind works on a global level. You’re in a box, counselor. You want things lined up nice and neat, but the world doesn’t work that way.” He tapped Klay’s forehead. “You’re in Africa now.”

Botha organized his papers and returned them to his briefcase. “Truth is I don’t know the big picture. If I did, I’d have my Kimber back. But I guarantee he’s got one. It’s you that has to figure it out, not me.” Botha knocked his knuckles on the table and smiled. “You got the hunter in you. I do know that. After all, you almost got me, right?”

Botha gathered up their orange peels and wiped the table with a napkin. He dropped the remnants into a wastebasket and clapped his hands clean. “I got you switched to my old cell. Left you a few items. Maybe next time we meet, you can tell me which one you’re going to be.”

“Which one?”

“The hunter, the buffalo, or the boy.” Botha grinned.

UNARMED IN THE COMPANY OF KILLERS

Kgosi Mampuru II Management Area

Pretoria, South Africa

Thabo escorted Klay down a long pale hall to Botha’s former cell, a battleship gray, steel-doored isolation unit in the prison’s C-Max unit. “Used to hang us on the other side there,” Thabo said, nodding toward the cell block’s opposite end. He handed Klay a cloth laundry sack. “From Ras.”

Botha’s cell smelled of Pine-Sol. Against one wall was a single bed bolted to the floor. On it was a folded wool blanket, a set of sheets, and a clean pillow. Against the opposite wall was a metal desk with a big screen television on top of it. A cable ran from the TV through a small hole in the concrete wall. The toilet was in the back, blocked from view by a metal dresser.

On the walls hung several Playboy centerfolds and a poster of Sylvester Stallone as Rambo. There were blank spaces and bits of old tape on the walls where someone had recently removed small photographs. On top of the desk was an unopened bottle of Courvoisier XO and a glass.

Klay sat down on the bed and fished through Botha’s gift bag. Some toiletries, a laptop, and a note. Klay set the laptop beside him on the bed and read the note. “Research, counselor. Nobody bothers you less I say. Do what you do. Enjoy the conyac. —Ras.” The note included the warden’s Wi-Fi password.