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to draw unnecessary attention to us, but I knew the bare metal scrape marks down the side of the car would be an instant giveaway once Patience or the Forsyths’ security company put the word out.
    ‘Taxi,’ Lungile said.
    Ahead of us a minibus taxi had pulled over to pick up a gardener in green overalls, his work finished in some rich family’s home. I passed it then pulled over and we both got out. The taxi started moving again and Lungile stepped out onto the road and flagged it down.
    I grabbed the bag of loot and went to her side. The driver stared at us incredulously; a black diamond and a kugel hailing him was probably a first. He leaned out of his window, looking Lungile over from head to toe. ‘Where to, sister?’
    ‘Anywhere but here,’ she said.
    He looked at the banged-up car and grinned. ‘Climb aboard the love bus.’
    Lungile and I squeezed our way in among the dozen domestic staff and the driver took off. I glanced back and saw flashing lights as a security company car rounded the bend behind us. As I continued to crane my neck I saw them slow and stop beside the Merc.
    Lungile punched me on the shoulder. ‘Man, that was close.’ She laughed.
    ‘Too close.’
    Hip-hop thumped from speakers in the roof above us, the beat not keeping pace with my heart.

3
    H udson Brand woke an hour before dawn, as he always did. As a safari guide his working day typically began at first light, or just before. This was the time of day when the predators – lion, leopard, hyena and so forth – were most likely to be on the move, finishing their night’s hunting or making use of the cool hours of light to have one more go at killing something.
    Before the first tourists rose, however, there was work to be done. In some camps he had guests to wake, doubling as a waiter cum personal valet and delivering tea or coffee prepared by the kitchen hands. More than once he had crept out of a guest’s tent or chalet to quickly shower and don a fresh uniform before starting his pre-dawn chores.
    But Darlene had come to his room, so he carefully lifted a spray-tanned arm off his chest and slid across the bed until his feet touched the polished cement floor. ‘Darlene, wake up. You need to get ready for your morning drive.’
    She groaned.
    Hudson grinned and shook her. ‘Come on, now, sleepyhead. I’m going to grab a shower.’
    He walked through the en-suite bathroom, savouring the warmth of the underfloor heating on his bare feet, then through a sliding door to the outdoor shower enclosure on the verandah. The outdoor shower was Africa’s gift to the civilised world, he thought, a successful marriage of first world plumbing and the African sky, which, day or night, was always a treat to behold. Hot water from a shower head the size of a dinner plate encased and protected him from the pre-dawn chill and, as always, it was a mission for him to turn off the tap and return to the cool of the morning. Brand towelled himself dry, then swore silently as he heard the call of a woodland kingfisher.
    It was still months before the first of these beautiful, bright blue and white birds were due to return to this part of Africa. They spent the winter in Kenya then heralded the start of summer when they arrived in Kruger, but this one was calling from inside.
    ‘Phone,’ Darlene mumbled as he walked back in.
    He picked up his mobile from the bedside table and snuffed out the bird ringtone by pressing the green answer button. ‘Hudson Brand.’
    There was a delay on the line, and the voice, when it came, was faint, but he recognised the English accent as soon as the caller started to speak. ‘Hudson, hi, it’s Dani.’
    Brand held the phone in the crook of his shoulder as he pulled on his green shorts and zipped them up. Darlene rolled over and checked the time on her phone as he padded past her and back out onto the verandah. A hyena whooped somewhere on the tree-studded plain below.
    ‘What was that?’ Daniela Russo asked,