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the men and woman already in the field. Personnel that Mwambe did not know about. He would need to put this Russian Greshenko into motion. That could be a problem. How best to use him? How long would he stay alive as a double agent? Not very, he guessed. Too bad about that. Modise remembered him as a nice fellow, his criminal past notwithstanding. How would they know that what he did or said was the truth? The director had not been clear. Would this Russian prefer his own kind and to save his life, betray the police to Lenka’s people? This operation is looking like a very risky business. And then there was Sanderson, the beautiful game ranger. What will become of that situation?
    So much to do.

Chapter Seven
    Moving from east to west, the Mowana Lodge is the first in a string of lodges and resorts that sit on the banks of the Chobe River in Kasane. It has a large baobab tree in the center of its court and decks that face north and the plains of Zambia. During the fire season, one can sit there with a sundowner and watch the smoke from the fires miles away. Tourists ask, “Won’t they send the fire department and put them out? What will happen to the animals?” The reply is always the same, “No madam, it is not possible to bring the fire-fighting machines to that area. The fire, he will burn himself out. The animals know what to do.”
    Irena Davidova and Oleg Lenka occupied two of the chairs on the upper deck. This evening there was no fire to occupy them. It wouldn’t have mattered if there had been. They had weightier things to discuss. The Mowana and the other lodges strung out to the west of them, in particular, the new one being built by the American, held their attention. That one had a casino and that one they coveted the most. It would be the postern gate into the castle when they usurped this kingdom, but they needed a plan. The American had a reputation for toughness and probably would not roll over for them. Botswana’s police and politicians, they’d discovered, did not respond to their blandishments as their counterparts in St. Petersburg would have done. Irena had been thinking about this for some time.
    â€œIt is a simple enough thing, Oleg. You have the man inside, no? This Greshenko is one of us, yes? We use him.”
    â€œWait. He was one of us once, Moscow Bratva , then Chicago. Not so sure anymore he still is.”
    â€œNobody is ever former Bratva , yes? So, we own him either way. He works for us or we turn him over to the local police. If they do not take care of him, he knows what we will do to him. So, he does what we ask.”
    â€œYes, okay. We have Greshenko. So, then what?”
    â€œListen. This man, Painter, the American. He is old man. He has no close family. Only a daughter who is not happy with him and a wife who does not live here. He is alone. He is not in the best health. He smokes. He drinks. He could die any minute, you see? Who will care what happens to him and even if they do, these people, will they fly from a soft armchair in America to see about a casino in Africa? I don’t think so. Not in time, anyway.”
    â€œSo?”
    Irena threw up her hands.“Sometimes, Yuri, I think you have potatoes for brains. Greshenko has this old man sign a paper. That is what he does all the time our man inside says. Greshenko goes to Painter and says, ‘here, sign this’ and he signs. This time is innocent paper, only later it will be signing over to Greshenko the casino.”
    â€œHow does that help us? Now the casino is his…wait, why is he signing this paper?”
    Irena’s eyes rolled upward and around. “He signs paper which is innocent enough, authorizing something. Later, we put more words on it. So, as soon as he signs, he has accident or heart attack and is dead. Greshenko is now owner of casino. If they come from America, so what? The hotel is no longer theirs. They complain, they fuss. Who cares? They go