In the Company of Killers, Bryan Christy [love story books to read .txt] 📗

said yes just to fucking meet you again. I said yes just to lock eyes with the fucking guy that could be so fucking good and still fall for it.”

“Well,” Klay said, “I hope you’re duly disappointed.”

“Oh. I would have to say, overall, yes, counselor, I am heavily fucking disappointed.” Botha sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “You’re a writer, but you couldn’t see the plot. You’re their agent, but you couldn’t figure out your mission. And you still don’t realize who you’re working for. So, now do you know yet what cage you’re in?”

“Who am I working for?”

Botha raised a finger and made a few circles with it pointed at the ceiling. “The fucking lord and master of us all.”

Klay could feel Botha’s rage. But there was something else. Botha didn’t just hate Terry Krieger. He feared him. Hate and fear, those fraternal twins, showed themselves bloodthirsty in Botha’s face. A man consumed by hate and fear lost his invisibility. For the first time, Klay could see Botha.

“Krieger put you up to all this, right?” Klay said.

Botha’s eyes darkened. Then, suddenly, he smiled. He wagged a finger at Klay. “You—” He grinned. “You might learn something useful yet.” He leaned forward and spoke slowly and quietly. “Remember I told you how Krieger killed that boy on the buffalo hunt. And that boy never knew he was fair game? What if that boy had known? Isaac was strong, quick. What if he had even fucking suspected? The old man Njovu carried a good knife. What if he had known what Terry had in mind for his son? Things might have gone differently, don’t you think?”

Botha sat back to let his lesson sink in, enjoying himself. This wasn’t merely a game for Botha. This was a big game hunt. Botha, the professional, tracking spoor, planning a kill. He was baiting Klay and exhausting him at the same time. To what end? Good tracking follows a trail. Great tracking leads it. Get in front of him, Klay told himself.

Klay moved his orange peels aside, drew three letters on the table with his finger. C. I. A. Pointed at Botha.

Botha smirked. “You Yanks are all the same. You think because it’s your eyes seeing it, it must be what it is.”

“What should I have seen, Botha?”

“I don’t know. You went to Kenya. What did you see?”

“My friend killed.”

“What else?”

“A politician killed.”

“And?”

“No elephant. Faulty technology. Perseus technology . . .”

“Then you go to the Philippines. Why?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think those stories were random? He weaponized you. That’s what Tots does. You’re the pigeon in that diamond mine. The one who flew through the window for me. Little packet tied to your foot. They built the coop for you.” Botha looked around the warden’s office. “Fed you. Gave you water. Trained you up, eight kilometers a week, see how you’d fly.”

A guard knocked on the door, then opened it. “Five minutes, Ras.” The guard was enormous with a shaved head and huge arms.

“Thanks, Thabo,” Botha said. “We’re just about finished, if that’s all right.”

“That’s all right.” Thabo closed the door.

Botha was on a roll now, so Klay didn’t interrupt. “I’m out now, and I’m going to stay that way. Ach.” Botha nodded at a portrait of Ncube hanging over the warden’s desk. “I was never a prisoner in here. I’m my own man wherever I am. You, you’re a prisoner wherever you go. Anyone ever tell you that? I saw it the moment you walked in here. Right proper dagga boy, looking for a fight, charge anything that moves. Reminded me of Minotaur. You remember him?”

“The myth?”

“No, my buffalo. The one Krieger missed.” Botha eyed him. “You hearing me now? You were their prisoner before you ever walked through that gate.”

Klay held his tongue. There was plenty of truth in those words.

Botha moved his chair closer. “Tell me what you think is going on,” he said quietly.

“I saw the intel. They were your poachers in Kenya.”

“Ja. And Advocate Khoza saw intel I broke into that police station for rhino horn. Intel is what it needs to be. Somebody opened the police safe, stole that horn? But it wasn’t me. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Said it would bring you over. You’re obsessed with me, or some fucking shit . . .”

“Who said?”

Botha didn’t respond.

Klay tapped the spot on the table where he’d written the three letters. “You know they sent me . . .”

“Ach,” Botha scoffed.

“Krieger? You’re telling me this has all been Krieger. Terry Krieger’s running CIA?”

“Did I say running? You need it in black and white to see what’s in front of you? Not a lot of zebras in this world for a reason. Leverage, Klay. Leverage is the tail that wags the dog. I’ll ask you again, counselor. Cui bono?”

Klay responded in a low whisper. “They destroy the files, hang me out as Agency, it kills Hungry’s investigation. Ncube benefits.”

“And?”

“And I end up in here, falsely accused.”

“Come on, counselor. You can do better than that. And—”

“All right,” Klay said, his anger rising. “And they get rid of the Dogs, who found a link between intelligence services and Krieger. An investment fund. The South African was—”

“Mo Rademeyer,” Botha said. “Good oke. Greedy. Said goodbye to him personally.”

Klay sat back in his chair. “You did?”

Botha shrugged. “You think you’re not,” Botha said, “but you’re in the life deep as me. Maybe deeper. You were the gun. I told you. You don’t see that?”

“I was the gun? You’re talking about my stories?”

Botha laughed. “No one cares about your fucking stories, counselor.”

The door opened and Thabo stuck his head in. “Time, Ras.”

“Thank you, Thabo. I’ll wrap up. Just one minute, please.”

Thabo nodded.

“Think bigger, Klay. A fucking magazine? An investment fund? That’s nothing. It’s nothing to me, and I’m almost nothing to him. Krieger’s mind works on a global level. You’re in a box, counselor. You want things lined up nice and neat, but the world doesn’t work that way.” He tapped Klay’s forehead. “You’re in Africa now.”

Botha