Klay’s cover story had come at a cost. The big elephant was now world famous. Voi’s enormous tusks, revered by Kenyans, were now priceless to Asian ivory collectors. To protect him from poachers, Kenya’s president had declared the animal a national treasure, and had deputized the Green Guardians to protect him.

Only a few criminals had the connections and the wherewithal to kill the well-protected Voi and smuggle his tusks to China whole. Klay’s information was that Ras Botha, a man known all too well to Klay, was about to try.

Klay watched the politician’s vehicles approach. “Long haul from Nairobi.”

“We flew him in,” Bernard said. “Same as you. He’s trouble for us, Tom. Ras Botha may be our immediate threat, but if we’re not careful, Simon Lekorere will become our long-term problem. The Chinese completed the Uganda rail line since you were last here. They have built another line from Addis to their military base in Djibouti.”

“The Ultimate Silk Road Project,” Klay said. “I know.”

“Do you know they want to connect them?”

Klay whistled. He imagined a gigantic Roman numeral I burned into the side of East Africa. The Kenya-to-Uganda rail line would be the numeral’s base; Addis, Ethiopia, to the port of Djibouti would be its cap. China had built the southern line for economic reasons. The northern line was strategic: Djibouti was a gatekeeper to the Suez Canal.

Klay looked up at the small dog still crunching its chicken wing. “Oil,” he said.

Bernard nodded in the direction of the politician’s incoming vehicle. “He extorts payment from us to keep his voters from poaching our elephants. That’s nothing new. Our donors pay him off. But he will get more money than we can afford by selling our land to the Chinese. Connect those two rail lines and everything we have here will vanish.”

Klay looked out over Kenya’s idyllic landscape. Bernard was right. Whatever China’s ultimate plan, if a third rail line was built through here, everything he was seeing would be lost. “No protests?”

Bernard laughed. “The Chinese hired Perseus Group.”

Klay cocked his head toward the other American in their group, a lanky blond software engineer wearing a pale blue Perseus Group polo shirt. The engineer leaned against the Guardians’ outpost, rapidly typing something into his iPhone. “I thought you hired Perseus Group?”

Before Bernard could respond, the two SUVs braked to a hard stop, covering Klay and Bernard in their dust. Klay ran his tongue over his teeth and spat. Two bulky Kenyans wearing sunglasses and business suits emerged from the lead vehicle. They hurried across the clearing, inspected the Guardians’ Land Rover, gave a nod, and a third bodyguard opened the main car’s back door. Inside sat Simon Lekorere talking on a mobile phone. The heavyset politician wore a dark brown cowboy hat, gold-framed Gucci sunglasses, and an orange kitenge shirt.

“Jesus,” Klay muttered.