Page 56 of Murder Island

The boat was about twelve feet long, with a Yamaha outboard mounted on the stern. The hull was in goodshape, but riding a little low in the water. I reached up and put both hands over the gunwale, then pulled myself up until my head and shoulders were over the side.

Somebody screamed.

A teenage girl was looking straight at me. She was on her back, legs up, a thick blanket underneath her. A teenage boy was on top of her, his back to me, his hips draped with a towel. The girl grabbed the towel and covered her breasts. The boy whipped around, bare-ass naked. The kids both had light brown skin and beaded dreadlocks. They were very thin and very young.

I motioned for them both to be quiet. They both stared at me with wide eyes. I untied my sack from my belt and pulled out a wad of soggy bills. I tapped the side of the boat. I waved the money. Primitive charades.

The boy blinked once, then looked down at his girlfriend. “Alice,” he said with a smooth French accent. “I believe this man wants to buy your father’s boat.”

CHAPTER 66

Lake Kivu, Rwanda, 1 a.m.

THE MAIN FLOOR of Club Riva looked out on the water—moonlit and beautiful, surrounded by dark green hills. Lial checked the time on her cell as she angled her way through the crowd toward the rear patio.

The music was Berlin techno, and it was incredibly loud. Lial could feel the bass in her bones. It felt good to breathe some outside air, even if it was thick with humidity. She’d only been in the club for thirty minutes, but already her clothes were sticky and saturated with cigarette smoke.

She looked up. Joseph Kabera’s small floatplane appeared over the trees in the distance, circled the lake once, then made a slow approach from the west. Lial watched as the plane glided to a feather-soft landing on the water.

The red pontoons churned up white streams of foam until the aircraft came to rest about twenty-five yardsfrom shore. A small dinghy set out from the club’s dock. The pilot-side door opened. Lial saw a tall Black man step out onto the pontoon.

It was him. Rwanda’s infamous minister of interior security.

Lial knew that Kabera traveled with two bodyguards, but always flew the plane himself. Sure enough, two muscular-looking men clambered out of the rear door. The dinghy swung alongside. The bodyguards steadied it while Kabera stepped in. He wiped a small splash of water off his shoe.

Lial slipped back inside to the crowded bar and caught the bartender’s eye. He brought over a bottle of top-shelf vodka and poured her a shot. She downed it, exhaled slowly, then tapped the bar top. Another shot. She slammed the glass down and whipped around, heading for the center of the room.

The dance floor was small for the size of the club, and it was already packed. Lights twinkled in overhead netting and glitter fluttered from the ceiling. Huge Turbosound speakers pumped the music straight down, mainlining it toward the dancers. Lial wore flesh-toned earplugs. Even so, the sound was nearly overpowering. Her estimate: 110 decibels. About the same as a jackhammer.

Lial pushed her dark hair up with her hands and let it fall in a loose tumble over her bare, brown shoulders. She reached down and teased the hem of her very short skirt a few millimeters higher. Then she started moving.Sometimes it was fun to let go—or pretend to. It was one part she actually enjoyed playing.

In seconds, she was surrounded by other dancers. Striking men. Stunning women. Striking men dressed like stunning women. Black, white, Asian, and every mix in between. It was that kind of club. Lial was careful not to play favorites. She danced with anybody and everybody who moved into her orbit, arms pumping, hips swinging, hair flying. At this rate, she would burn off the booze in an hour.

Plenty of time.

She glanced toward the patio as Kabera slipped in through a rear door with his bodyguards flanking him. Kabera was just thirty-one, and his guards looked barely twenty. The minister was a good-looking man and, by reputation, a real lady-killer. Also,literallya killer, with hundreds of extrajudicial murders to his name—men, women, children. Entire families. Sometimes entire villages. All of this Lial knew in detail. She’d studied the reports. She’d seen the photos.

Cal Savage wanted Kabera removed in order to make room for one of his own operatives. It’s not that Kabera was too cruel, Savage told Lial. It’s just that he was too independent. Savage needed somebody totally loyal to him. A fresh start. It was all part of his methodical chess game.

Lial spun herself toward the edge of the dance floor. She didn’t try to catch Kabera’s eye. No need. Let him come to her.

CHAPTER 67

Democratic Republic of the Congo, 1 a.m.

IT WAS RAINING hard in the jungle. A pelting tropical downpour. Kira was running as fast as she could through the dripping foliage. Wet leaves and branches slapped against her face and arms with every step. She was now a half mile past the line of fire-charred trees. But it wasn’t far enough.

She was running for her life.

Her new pursuers were impossible to shake, even when she could see them coming. And they were easy to see. All five of them. They were the huge men she spotted the day before with Gurney. The ones with the flamethrowers.

This posse was clearly a lot more motivated than the miners. And they were much better trackers. Kira knew good training when she saw it, and these five were pros.

No flaming torches for them. They carried powerful tactical flashlights that cut sharply through the night.Kira was constantly ducking and diving to avoid being caught in the beams.

She dodged down an animal trail with wild, unpredictable turns. She slipped on a patch of wet moss, fell on her ass, scrambled back to her feet. Her side still hurt with every twist, but there was no time to favor it. She had to plunge on, faster and faster.

She looked for a tree to climb, but the bark was too slick. She only got a few feet off the ground before sliding back down, wasting precious seconds as the five giants closed in.

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