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did the dinner meat come from, Mr. know-it-all?”
    â€œKudu. It was roasted Kudu. Those are bred like on a farm, or some hunting is allowed with a special permit, I think. I am not so sure, anyway, the people who live on the land keep their right to kill for food, maybe.”
    â€œSo who’s going to stop us, hey? You will be living on the land, too. So you go out there in your truck, find me a lion and shoot him. Somebody will know how to turn him into a rug for the right price. A lion skin and also a zebra for the bedroom. Can you see me on a zebra skin rug? You will get me those?”
    Oleg frowned. That was a big order. The image of Irena with her jet black hair and white skin lying naked on a zebra skin rug was arresting, but was making it a reality worth the risk going after this zebra? And never mind the lion. Poaching big game would eventually involve the BDF, the army, and they were rumored to shoot poachers on sight. The President himself was a fierce conservationist and getting caught could end with losing everything they had on their plate. Oleg guessed, rather hoped, that in time she would forget about rugs made from endangered species. If not, he’d find the things on the black market. Surely someone over in Mugabe’s country would be happy to provide whatever he, rather she, needed. No way was he going to stir up the BDF.
    â€œSure, Renee, whatever you want. Another drink?” He snapped his fingers and told the waitress to bring them two more of the same. She was nice looking, for a black woman—fresh. She would bring good money when she changed her profession. That could be soon. Everybody would work for Lenka, or they wouldn’t work at all, and what they worked at would be his call. Well, in the case of the women, that would be Renee’s call, but this waitress…yes, she would bring in some good money.
    Oleg sat back and sighed. Life was good.

Chapter Eight
    Patience Botshabelo had been chosen for this particular assignment because of her ability to speak Russian. For a Motswana, that counted as a rarity. Botswana’s official language is English, the language of government and commerce. Its native language is Setswana. To be fluent in something as remote as Russian made her an especially useful agent. Her assignment was to listen and learn, to take careful notes about everything the Russians did and, when possible, also what they said. She took the couple’s order, left their table to give it to the barman, and slipped well out of their line of sight. She definitely did not like the way the man was looking her over. She had had looks like that since she was old enough to have her bumps, but this man did not give the impression he was only admiring her. He looked like a snake about to swallow a mouse, and she was pretty sure she knew who was the mouse. She retrieved her notebook from her apron and wrote.
    Vodka with ice and a twist for the woman, vodka with a beer chaser for Lenka. They always have three drinks before eating. He will always make suggestive remarks to the women who serve in the bar and the restaurant. It is very discomforting to these women. They think he has a bad plan for them. I think they have it right.
    The woman is acting like a carnivore on the hunt. What she hunts is not yet clear. They are speaking of making strong steps to take over the casino the American is building. There was some talk of the man Greshenko, but I could not make it out. Something big is planned.
    S he closed her book, shoved it back in her apron pocket, picked up the drinks and took them back to the couple on the deck. She would stay out of their line of sight but within earshot, if possible. Modise said he would be in Kasane soon and she wanted to report as much as she could. These people were very dangerous, for sure.
    ***
    Kgabo Modise and Joseph Ikanya arrived in Kasane mid-afternoon. They booked in the government facility which served as a temporary residence for