He knew the whole thing bothered Pete. Driving up on a target violated Pete’s rules. You gave fair chase. But Krieger didn’t have time for that. He’d brought a double rifle this time, the H&H in 600. A true cannon. No time for nostalgia. He wanted his trophy. He deserved his trophy. The Chinese were completely on board with his cloaking program. He had sold China the power to impose doubt on its enemies. From now on, no one would know what was an accident and what was an act of war—it was disruption on a new and lucrative scale. Minotaur scale.

The new boys were eyeballing him. They’d heard what he’d done, of course. No secrets on the Kimber. Which meant they knew what he was capable of. Stay in your lane, boys, Krieger thought, and nobody gets hurt.

At the top of the rise, Krieger paused. Grass turned from brown to green as the land below fell away into a deep vale with knots of acacia trees along a river’s banks. Krieger lifted his binoculars and glassed the land. The grass was thick and tall until it reached the river, where it lay matted by animals that had braved the crocodiles to drink. Krieger could see the crocs lolling on rocks, their bellies full. Some zebra looked in his direction. A few buffalo grazed peacefully. No sign of Minotaur.

“Wallowing other side of those trees, I’ll bet,” Zoeller said.

It would be a long, slow walk down to the buffalo through grass as tall as he was. Krieger rechecked the sight lines. Nothing higher than him at the moment. Whatever it was, the action would come in the trees below.

“Light’s burning, Pete,” Krieger said. “I don’t want any surprises.”

Zoeller signaled. The taller boy plunged into the grass in the direction of the trees. He did it without hesitating. Krieger liked that.

While Krieger searched the landscape for Minotaur, Botha emerged silently from under a tarp in the back of the Land Rover. He came up behind Krieger and put a pistol in his ribs. “Hunt’s over, Tots,” he said, lifting the big rifle from Krieger’s hands.

Krieger’s right hand flew to the pistol on his hip. Pete Zoeller caught it there, the older man’s iron grip swallowing weapon and hand as one. Zoeller removed the pistol from Krieger’s hand as easily as if Krieger were a child.

Krieger laughed. “Okay. Bravo. Well done.” He looked Botha up and down. “None better. Back of the truck, right?”

“Where the servants are,” Botha said.

“Well, bring me the papers.”

Botha whistled. The Land Rover came up, driven by the tracker who had disappeared into the long grass. Botha reached into the back of the vehicle and withdrew a set of contracts for the sale of the Kimber. “Lawyer in Polokwane drew them up for me.” He handed Krieger a pen.