The two attendants had dropped out of sight below the porch railing. A gunshot boomed from the porch and a spout of dirt erupted behind them.
They threw themselves behind the car. 'What the
'Stay put and down.' Pendergast leapt up and ran.
'Hey!'
Another report, and a bullet smacked the side of the jeep with a
He ducked back and winced as he heard a third shot ricochet off the steel frame of the jeep. Christ, he couldn't just sit here like a target at a shooting gallery. He waited until a fourth shot sailed over his head, then raised his head above the vehicle's fender, aiming his weapon as the shooter ducked behind the railing. He was about to pull the trigger when he saw Pendergast emerge from the shrubbery below the porch. With remarkable speed he vaulted the railing, felled the African shooter with a savage chop to the neck, and pointed his .45 at the other attendant. The man slowly raised his hands.
'You can come up now, Vincent,' Pendergast said as he retrieved the gun that lay beside the groaning form.
They found Wisley in the fruit cellar. As they closed in on him, he fired the elephant gun, but his aim was off-- through drink or fear--and the kick sent him sprawling. Before he could fire again Pendergast had darted forward, pinned the rifle with his foot, and subdued Wisley with two swift, savage blows to the face. The second blow broke Wisley's nose, and bright blood fountained over the man's starched white shirt. Reaching into his own breast pocket and plucking out a handkerchief, Pendergast handed it to him. Then, seizing Wisley by the upper arm, the FBI agent propelled him out of the fruit cellar, up the basement stairs, and out the front door to the porch, where he dropped him back into the wicker chair.
The two attendants were still standing there, as if dumbstruck. D'Agosta waved his weapon at them. 'Walk down the road a hundred yards,' he said. 'Stay where we can see you, hands up in the air.'
Pendergast tucked his Les Baer into his waistband and stood before Wisley. 'Thank you for the warm welcome,' he said.
Wisley pressed the handkerchief to his nose. 'I must've mistaken you for someone else.' He spoke in what sounded to D'Agosta like an Australian accent.
'On the contrary, I commend you on your prodigious recall. I think you have something to tell me.'
'I've nothing to tell you, mate,' Wisley replied.
Pendergast crossed his arms. 'I will ask you only once: who arranged my wife's death?'
'I don't know what you're talking about,' came the muffled response.
Pendergast looked down on the man, his lip twitching. 'Let me explain something, Mr. Wisley,' he said after a moment. 'I can assure you, without the slightest possibility of error, that you
'Sod off.'
Pendergast contemplated the sweating, bleeding figure sprawled in the chair. Then, leaning forward, he pulled Wisley to his feet. 'Vincent,' he said over his shoulder, 'escort Mr. Wisley to our vehicle.'
Gun pressed into the bulging back, D'Agosta prodded Wisley toward the jeep and into the passenger seat, then climbed into the rear, brushing debris off the seat. Pendergast started the engine and drove back down the path, past the emerald grass and the Technicolor flowers, past the two attendants--who stood motionless as statues-- and into the jungle.
'Where are you taking me?' Wisley demanded as they rounded the bend and the house disappeared from view.
'I don't know,' Pendergast replied.
'What do you mean, you don't
'We're going on safari.'
They drove on, without hurry, for fifteen minutes. The tall grass gave way to savanna, and a wide, chocolate- brown river that looked too lazy even to flow. D'Agosta saw two hippos playing by the riverbank, and a vast flock of stork-like birds with thin yellow legs and immense wingspans, rising like a white cloud from the water. The sun had begun to descend toward the horizon, and the fierce heat of midday had abated.
Pendergast took his foot off the accelerator and let the vehicle coast to a stop on the grassy shoulder. 'This looks like a good spot,' he said.
D'Agosta glanced around in confusion. The vista here seemed little different from the landscape they'd been traveling through for the last five miles.
Then he froze. About a quarter mile off, away from the river, he made out a pride of lions, gnawing at a skeleton. Their sandy-colored fur had made them difficult to see at first against the low grassland.
Wisley was sitting rigid in the front seat, staring intently. He'd noticed them right away.
'Get out of the car, please, Mr. Wisley,' Pendergast said mildly.
Wisley did not move.
D'Agosta placed his gun at the base of Wisley's skull. 'Move.'
Stiffly, slowly, Wisley exited the vehicle.
