Tony turned in his seat to look at her and motioned for her to jack her headphones back into the helicopter’s internal communications net. She had unplugged it to give her pity party some privacy.

“The pilot says that the chopper doesn’t have the range to check that last spot on the map. The one we got from Papa Heinrick.”

“What’s this about Papa Heinrick?” Luka asked, blasting Sloane with a dose of halitosis.

Something had prevented Sloane from discussing their late-night raft trip down in Sandwich Bay to visit the crazy old fisherman, mostly because she grudgingly suspected that Luka had been right all along and just didn’t want to admit it to the guide.

Wishing Tony had kept his mouth shut, Sloane shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He was nuttier than a fruitcake. We’ve wasted more than two thousand dollars on fuel checking possibilities from reliable sources. I can’t see us wasting any more on Papa Heinrick and his giant snakes.”

“Giant what?” the pilot asked. He was South African with a thick Africaans accent.

“Giant snakes,” Sloane repeated, feeling foolish. “He claims he was attacked by giant metal snakes.”

“Most likely it was the DTs,” the pilot said. “Everyone around here knows that Papa Heinrick is the world’s biggest boozer. I’ve seen him drink a pair of Aussie backpackers under the table and both those lads were the size of elephants. Rugby players, I think they were. If it’s snakes he’s seeing you can bet your last Rand he was coming off a bender when he saw ’em.”

“Giant snakes.” Luka giggled. “Did I not tell you that Papa Heinrick is a crazy man? You waste your time talking to him. You trust Luka. I find the spot you’re looking for. You see. There are still places out here where it could be.”

“Not for me,” Tony said. “I have to be back home day after tomorrow and I just want to sit by the pool.”

“That is okay,” Luka said with a quick glance at where Sloane’s leg emerged from her shorts. “I take Miss Sloane alone in a boat with greater range than this helicopter.”

“I don’t think so,” Sloane said sharply enough to get Tony’s attention. She glared at him and it took him a moment to understand what their guide was really after.

“We’ll play it by ear. See how I feel in the morning, huh?” he said. “Maybe a boat trip wouldn’t be too bad.”

“You’re wasting your time,” the pilot muttered.

Sloane was sure he was right.

The chopper flared over the dusty heliport twenty minutes later. The rotor blast kicked up a cloud of grit that obscured the ground and turned the limp windsock into a rigid pink cone. The pilot gently set his helicopter on the ground and immediately cut the engines. The effect was instantaneous. The piercing whine of the moter faded and the blades began to slow. He opened his door before they stopped, exchanging the hot sweat-tainted air in the cabin with hot gritty air from outside. It was still a relief.