The Lioness(28)

Meanwhile, the men at the camp continued their work, most of them oblivious to the leopard that now was dragging her prey to the nearby kopje, where she had cubs waiting to feed. The two porters that saw it took note, and the younger of the pair wondered aloud at the possibility of retrieving the headless corpse before it was devoured as an act of kindness to the person’s family, but the older man told him that would be dangerous and futile. The Russian supervising them snapped at them to let the body be, and the younger porter shook his head ruefully and continued loading the truck.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


    Katie Barstow





“I’ve dated actors. You all know that,” said Katie. “And you all know that it never worked out. So, why not date a nice man who has nothing to do with this crazy business?” Of course, that nice man will soon be her nice husband. Moreover, Katie has known David Hill since they were children and David was Katie’s older brother’s best friend.

—The Hollywood Reporter, August 11, 1964



Most of the time, Katie gazed out the window that was a little dirty with dust but not splotched with the smudgy remnants of Juma Sykes. Once more, she and David were sharing a seat in the Land Rover.

None of the Americans were supposed to speak and no one really wanted to talk, but the guard in the very last row was no longer threatening them each time one of them murmured something softly. Billy asking Margie how she was feeling. Margie asking the driver if she could reach forward for the toilet paper because she wanted to clot some of the blood from the glass shards that had cut the backs of her legs. David one time pointing out a harem of impala, as if this were just another day of sightseeing in the Serengeti.

The other Rover that had left camp with them was long gone. The two vehicles had spread out in different directions. She glanced at her watch and saw they’d been bumping along for nearly forty-five minutes.

Katie sighed, scared, but grateful that she had her husband and her brother and Terrance with her. She was no longer afraid that she was going to be killed—at least anytime soon. David had reassured her that this was a kidnapping, he was sure of it, and the new government in Dar es Salaam or the studio or the American government would pay the ransom and they’d all be released. It shouldn’t even take all that long. So, the fear was mostly of what ordeals loomed in the meantime. In her immediate future. Would they be chained in some rat-filled shack with a tin roof outside the reserve? Tortured in some way that was not merely horrifically painful, but disfigured her in a way that would end her career? And what if Margie lost her baby? At one point, Billy had speculated that the kidnappers might approach Charlie Patton’s company for the ransom, alerting his office in Nairobi that they had the once famous hunter and nine of his guests, but there was no way Patton had the kind of money that would make kidnapping him and the nine Americans he was hosting worth the effort. Their captors? David was right: they were more likely to call the embassy to start the negotiations.

They passed a great herd of elephants, and if Juma or Muema had been driving, they would have stopped and one of the guides would have shared some remarkable minutiae. Or David would have taken a beautiful photograph: he was an immensely gifted photographer, and just this morning she had been thinking how she couldn’t wait to see what was on his rolls of film from this trip. Terrance might have sketched some detail on the pad he had with him. Or, if Charlie Patton himself had happened to be in the Land Rover, he would have told them a story that might have been horrifying, but might just as likely have been very sweet: something about an old elephant with tusks as tall as a human that a guest had shot as the bull charged, or a mother elephant so proud of her little one that she had nudged him in front of the camera on a safari where they were only taking pictures. You just never knew with Patton. He was a raconteur, but he was wholly without a filter or the slightest instinct for his audience. He still seemed to live with one foot in another era, the world before the war, and sometimes seemed to think it was 1934—not 1964.

She studied the muscular fellow who was driving. When Margie had asked him for the toilet paper for her cuts, he’d obliged. Now their eyes met in the rearview mirror, and he returned her stare. He looked almost bemused, but she’d witnessed his ferocity when they’d overtaken the camp. All these men had, when necessary, the viciousness of wild animals. No, that wasn’t right. They weren’t madmen. They had the calculated, almost erudite cruelty of paid assassins. She smiled at him, an instinct. It was what she did. He didn’t smile back. At first, she’d pegged him for twenty-five. Now? Probably thirty. He was at least her age. His brown T-shirt hugged his chest and his biceps like Saran Wrap, the hair on his arms so blond it was almost white. His pants were loose, as was his bandolier of ammo. She turned around to glance at the fellow in the back row. His rifle was across his lap, but his pistol was in his hand and she could see that the safety was off. He motioned for her to turn around, and so she did.

But an idea had come to her. She’d seen the driver slip his pistol beneath his seat. It was easily within his reach, but it would still take him seconds to retrieve it.

Based on where they were all seated in the vehicle, David and Terrance could jump the fellow behind them, and Billy could attack the one who was driving. Yes, the brute was strong, but he was also behind the wheel of the vehicle, one hand steering and one arm lazily recumbent on the shift. He’d be distracted, and Billy would have the element of surprise. The fellow would not be able to simultaneously fend him off, steer the Land Rover, and reach for his gun. They were no longer moving especially fast across the clay track. The Americans could mutiny. By the time the beast in the front seat had fended off her brother, she and David and Terrance would have control of the back and one of their guards’ weapons. Maybe they’d have both the fellow’s pistol and his rifle.