The Amulet of Power (24 page)

“He’s not the only one,” said Lara. “I’m getting sick and tired of people trying to kill me.”

“Uh . . . it’s not just
people
,” said Oliver suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“The wind was changing when the rhino interrupted us,” he said.

She turned toward the glade and saw three lionesses starting to approach them.

“I thought the Mahdist said there were four of them,” said Lara.

“There are.”

Oliver pointed to the roof of the car, where the fourth lioness perched, observing them like a housecat observing a mouse that she was about to have a little fun with.

30

“Don’t run,” said Oliver softly. “Lions are pretty conservative animals. These have never attacked men before. They may think twice about it.”

“How do you know they’ve never attacked anyone?”

“As I told you, the Nairobi Park is within the city limits,” he said. “If they’d killed anyone, the game department would have shot them.”

Suddenly an idea occurred to Lara. “What will happen if I walk very slowly?”

“To the car?” he asked. “The old girl on the roof will probably pounce on you if you get too close and she feels threatened.”

“No,” said Lara. “To the Arab’s body.”

“Probably nothing,” said Oliver. “But if I’m wrong, you’ll have less than three seconds before the closest of them is on top of you.”

“It’s worth a try,” she said. “Don’t forget: They’re hungry and we’re covered with topi blood. They’re not going to stand back and just watch us all day.”

She took a step, then a second and a third. The lead lioness stopped and stared at her curiously.

Two more steps and she was next to the Arab’s corpse. She knelt down very slowly, never taking her eyes off the lions, felt around under the man’s body, and finally found what she was looking for.

She straightened up very slowly with Oliver’s Magnum in her hand.

“It’s got too strong a kick for you,” said Oliver. “And even if you landed a lucky shot and killed the first one, the other three will be on you before you can take aim again.”

“I’m not going to shoot them,” said Lara as two of the lionesses began approaching cautiously. Suddenly the lioness atop the car jumped lightly to the ground, no more than twenty-five yards away.

“Then what did you get the guns for?”

“Quiet,” she said. “I’ve got to concentrate.”

She turned, lifted the Magnum in both hands, held it in front of her, and took aim at the rhino, who knew that the lions wouldn’t bother him and was eating peacefully a hundred yards away.

“I can’t kill him from this distance, can I?”

“No,” answered Oliver. “But you can annoy the hell out of him.”

“Good!” said Lara, squeezing the trigger.

The lions jumped and roared at the sound. She saw a puff of dust rise from the rhino’s flanks, and it began galloping straight at her. She stood her ground as the huge creature came closer and closer. The lions, not knowing that the rhino was charging Lara rather than them, broke and ran for cover.

Lara yelled at the rhino to make sure he didn’t turn away and give the lions a chance to regroup. He snorted, lowered his head, and increased his speed—and she sidestepped him like the bullfighters she had seen in the arena at Madrid and Barcelona. As he had done before, he kept running, and this time he disappeared over a nearby ridge.

Lara and Oliver raced to the car, and were safely inside it before the lions broke cover and began returning. Oliver put his key in the ignition and drove off. Lara’s last sight of the lions was as they were cautiously approaching the dead Arab, determined to eat
some
thing this morning.

“That was quick thinking,” said Oliver. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me in the safari business?”

“Some other lifetime,” she replied. “I just want to get to the Seychelles.”

“We’ll get there, never fear.”

They drove to the Langata Gate, where Oliver stopped the car and approached the guard’s station. He spent a few moments talking, then returned to the car and drove out of the park.

“All right,” said Oliver. “I smoothed things over with him and fed him a fable about how we were hot on the trail of a notorious poacher. We even took a couple of shots at him, but he escaped, which at least explains the gunshots if anyone asks about them.”

“And the dead Arab?”

“The lions won’t leave much, and the scavengers will take care of the rest. There won’t be a trace of him by tomorrow.”

Suddenly he pulled off the road and stopped at a small dry goods store.

“Why are we stopping here?” asked Lara as they pulled up to the door.

“We’re covered with blood, remember?” said Oliver. “There aren’t any carnivores at the airport or on the plane, but we’re not going to be too fragrant.”

“You know, I’d completely forgotten,” said Lara, getting out of the car and joining him as he entered the store.

They each bought a khaki outfit, his rather nondescript, hers more elegant and form-fitting, and after another five minutes they pulled into the lot at the Wilson Airport.

“It looks bustling,” Lara remarked as a plane touched down and another took off a few seconds later.

“Almost all the in-country flights take off and land here,” replied Oliver as they walked to the entrance. “There are scheduled flights to the Mara, Samburu, Lamu, half a dozen other locations. And dozens of charters leave here every day.”

“So where’s our pilot?” she asked, looking around as they entered the small airport.

“Beats me,” said Oliver. “We didn’t have a set time—just late morning. These arrangements are always very informal.”

“What do we do now?”

“We wait where he’s most likely to look for us.”

He took her to a small bar and restaurant at the far end of the building.

“This is called the Dambusters 77 Club,” he informed her as they sat at a leather booth. “It’s ostensibly for members only, but anyone can buy a one-day membership.”

She noticed a number of men sitting at the bar, most of them wearing leather jackets despite the heat. “I assume those guys are all pilots?” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s the uniform, all right. This is their hangout. If our guy doesn’t show up soon I’ll see if we can hire one of them.”

He didn’t have to worry. A tall, slender man approached them a few minutes later and introduced himself as Milo Jacobi. They could tell from his accent that he was American.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I just brought a couple back from the Ngorongoro Crater over in Tanzania. I’ve got more than enough fuel to reach Mombasa, so we can leave whenever you’re ready. Once we refuel on the coast, it’s a straight shot to the islands. The Seychelles are about a thousand miles east of the coast, and we’ll make about two hundred miles an hour, so figure on a five-hour flight from Mombasa—and we’ll get to Mombasa in about an hour and a half. I’ve stashed some sandwiches in the plane for you in case you get hungry, and a few soft drinks.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Lara. “Let’s go.”

He led them out to the airfield, and soon was standing beside his plane.

“It’s a five-seater,” he said, “so you can both sit in back, or one of you can sit up front with me.”

“I’ll take the back,” said Lara.

“Me, too,” said Oliver. “I don’t mind flying, but I hate looking out the front window—when you see clouds zigzagging right and left you suddenly realize just how much the wind knocks you around.”

Jacobi laughed in amusement. “All right, the backseat it is. Do you have any luggage?”

“Just my shoulder bag,” answered Lara. “We’ll buy whatever we need when we get there.”

If Jacobi found that curious he didn’t say so, and a couple of minutes later they raced down the runway and were soon aloft and heading east.

Lara leaned back, relaxed, and looked out the window at the clear blue African sky.

They touched down in Mombasa, refueled, and headed off to the Seychelles.

It was when they had traveled perhaps one hundred miles over the Indian Ocean and were cruising at about 7,500 feet that Jacobi lowered his head and began whispering to himself.

“What are you doing?” asked Lara curiously.

“Praying,” he said. Suddenly he reached over to the control panel and killed the engines.

“What the hell have you done?” demanded Oliver, leaning forward.

“I have done what so many others have failed to do,” he answered. “I have killed Lara Croft.”

“You’ve killed us
all
!” shouted Oliver.

“Better death than a world ruled by the Mahdi,” said Jacobi serenely.

Lara flung herself over the top of the copilot’s seat and tried to restart the engines. Jacobi took a swing at her, catching her a glancing blow on the jaw.

She pulled the Scalpel of Isis from her boot and slashed him across the throat. His scream turned into a moist gurgle. She didn’t even look at him as she worked the controls.

“Jettison him!” she ordered Oliver.

“The door’s on the far side.”

“Then lower his window and shove him out. We’re losing altitude! We’ve got to make the plane lighter and buy some time, even a few seconds, while I try to restart the engines!”

Oliver spent about thirty seconds getting the window open, and the plane almost flipped over with the change of pressure, but Lara got the wings level again and Oliver managed to slide the dead pilot’s body through the window, where it plunged some 3,800 feet into the ocean.

“Can I help?” asked Oliver.

“Do you know how to fly a plane?”

“No.”

“Then you can’t help,” she said.

“How soon before we crash?”

“If this was a 747, we’d have about five seconds . . . but it’s a small plane, relatively light. Even with the motor off and losing altitude, I can probably glide for about three more minutes before we hit the water.”

Oliver sat perfectly still and kept quiet, not wanting to distract her. The altimeter showed them dropping to 2,800 feet, then 2,500, then 2,000. At 1,500 he thought he heard the engines trying to catch, but the plane continued to fall. At 800 feet he heard the sound again, longer this time, before it vanished.

He looked out the window. It seemed like the ocean was racing up to meet them—and then, at 300 feet, the engines caught again, and this time they purred to life.

The plane leveled out, then slowly began climbing.

“Crisis over,” announced Lara.

“I’ve had a few more crises than I bargained for,” said Oliver. “Do you mind if I move up to the front with you?”

“Not at all.”

He carefully maneuvered himself to the empty seat. “I didn’t know you could fly a plane,” he said.

“You never asked me.”

“Do you know how to get to the Seychelles?”

“He’s got maps here, and we’ll be in radio contact with the Mahé airport in another hour or so.”

“Should we report what happened to Jacobi?”

“Who’s Jacobi?” she asked innocently. “We rented this plane in Mombasa. We’ll return it to your friend when we’re done with it.”

Oliver smiled and shook his head in wonderment. “You seem to make a habit of saving all the people who thought they were supposed to protect you,” he said ironically.

“Not quite all,” she replied. “I owe my life to Kevin Mason a few times over.”

“Tell me more about this second-generation scholar who rescued you from that collapsed tomb,” said Oliver. “We’ve been so busy just trying to stay alive that I haven’t had a chance to ask you about him.”

“He’s spent most of his adult life searching for the Amulet,” she replied. “He’s bright, he seems well-read, and he’s surprisingly good with his fists.”

“You did mention something about that.”

“Then what else do you want to know about him?” she asked. “He’s the son of one of the world’s foremost archaeologists, he’s very personable, and he seems to be totally without fear. At least, he was more than willing to risk his life to save mine.”

“He sounds like quite a man,” said Oliver.

“I suppose he is.”

“And handsome?” he asked.

“Why should you think so?”

“Just a hunch.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “Handsome, too.”

“Anything else?”

“Just that he hates what he calls hugger-mugger—but it doesn’t stop him from doing whatever has to be done.”

Oliver smiled.

“What’s so funny?” asked Lara.

“He sounds like a male version of you,” he said. “At least he does if he’s rich. Do you miss him much?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“
That
much?” he said, amused. “If you’re right about the Amulet, we should conclude our business here in a day or two and then you can see him again.”

“I’m right about it,” she said with certainty.

“Well, if you’re wrong, you can always become a ballet dancer, or maybe a broken-field runner in American football,” said Oliver. “You dodged that rhino like you were born to it. Most people lose their nerve the first time—and of course if they do, there usually isn’t a second time.”

“It’s an amazing piece of information,” she said. “I’d never heard that about rhinos before.”

“Nobody hunts them anymore,” said Oliver. “But they’re about as foul-tempered an animal as you’ll ever find. These days poachers just spray them with AK-47s, but back in the old days, when it was still a sport, you’d just wait for a rhino to charge, then step aside and stick a bullet in his ear as he ran past.” He shrugged. “I know it looks terrifying to the uninitiated, but actually it’s quite routine.”

“Shut up, Malcolm,” said Lara. “I’m trying to compliment you.”

“It’s not necessary,” he replied. “There are a lot of things I don’t know. I’m totally ignorant about art and music and most of literature. I flunked math in school. I haven’t seen a movie in thirty years, or a play in even longer. But if there’s one thing I
do
know, it’s my own business.”