The solitary vehicle on the road was the only thing moving save the wind and the gentle surf lapping at the beach. The four-by-four pickup was only about twenty miles south of Swakopmund and its adjoining harbor town of Walvis Bay, but it was as if this was the last car on earth.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, Sloane Macintyre shivered.

“Could you grab the wheel?” she asked her companion. He did, and she shrugged into a hooded sweatshirt, needing both hands to pull her long hair from under the collar and settle it over her shoulders. It was as coppery red as the dunes at dusk and set off her luminous gray eyes.

“I still say we should have waited until morning and gotten a permit to enter Sandwich Bay,” complained Tony Reardon for the third time since leaving their hotel. “You know how touchy the local authorities are about tourists entering secured areas.”

“We’re headed to a bird sanctuary, Tony, not one of the mining concessions leased by the diamond companies,” Sloane retorted.

“It’s still against the law.”

“Besides, I don’t like the way Luka tried to warn us off from looking for Papa Heinrick. It was almost as if he has something to hide.”

“Who, Papa Heinrick?”

“No, our illustrious guide, Tuamanguluka.”

“Why would you say that? Luka’s been nothing but helpful since we got here.”

Sloane shot him a sideways glance. In the glow of the dash lights, the Englishman looked like a petulant boy acting stubborn for stubbornness’ sake. “You don’t have the feeling that he’s been a bit too helpful? What are the odds of a guide finding us at our hotel who happens to know every local fisherman in Walvis Bay and can get us a deal from one of the helicopter tour companies?”

“We just got lucky.”

“I don’t believe in luck.” Sloane turned her attention back to the road. “When we told Luka about the old fisherman mentioning Papa Heinrick he did everything in his power to dissuade us from looking for him. Luka first said Heinrick was just a beach fisherman and didn’t know anything about the waters more than a mile from shore. Then he told us he wasn’t right in the head. When that didn’t work he says that Heinrick is dangerous, and was rumored to have killed a man.

“Was that the impression of Papa Heinrick we got from the fisherman who first told us about him?” Sloane went on. “No. He said that Papa Heinrick had forgotten more about the waters off the Skeleton Coast than any man had ever learned. His exact words more or less. That sounds like the perfect person to interview for this project and our oh-so-helpful guide doesn’t want us talking to him. Tony, that stinks and you know it.”

“We could have waited until morning.”

Sloane ignored his comment for a moment before saying, “You know every minute counts. Someone is going to figure out what we’re looking for eventually. When that happens this coastline is going to be crawling with people. The government would probably declare the shore off limits, close down the fisheries, and impose martial law. You’ve never been on an expedition like this. I have.”