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bloody efficient too.’
    The guide had barely finished speaking when six dogs broke from the cover of the high grass and raced for the zebra herd, scattering it in wild panic. They immediately locked onto the slowest animal, left confused and seemingly dazed by the escape of the herd; when it ran, the six dogs were right behind it.
    Despite its confusion, the zebra was still fast and looked as if it might outrun the dogs, but still they kept on in dogged pursuit. The zebra tried to jink to the right, but two more dogs were there waiting for it, and it veered immediately to the left instead; but as it raced that way, another two dogs emerged, forcing the animals back onto the straight, right toward a small stand of trees.
    ‘They’re funneling it,’ I said, and the tour guide nodded.
    ‘Yeah,’ he confirmed, ‘that’s how they do it. Clever little buggers.’
    The zebra, despite the endurance of the dogs chasing it, was opening up its lead as it reached the trees; but then as soon as it got there, four dogs – which had been hiding in wait – leapt out from cover and pounced onto the racing zebra, jaws pinching around its back legs and belly, hanging on as the animal reared and bucked and kicked out wildly. But it was no good, as the rest of the pack arrived and leapt onto the zebra, bringing it down to the ground where two of them latched onto its throat.
    A minute or two later, the zebra stopped moving and the feast began, the dogs working fast to strip the meat from the bone, furred faces and jaws covered in bright red blood.
    The girl next to me had put her binoculars down. ‘I think I’m going to throw up,’ she said.
    ‘That’s nature at its finest, honey,’ her boyfriend said as he continued to watch in amazement.
    ‘Fuckin’ A!’ the single guy on the other side of me said, obviously enjoying the gory spectacle. ‘That’s what it’s all about! Fuck yeah!’
    I was left wondering what to think. A part of me admired the dogs’ tactics, and their tenacity. And like anything else in the world, they had to eat. It was a natural process, and there was nothing wrong with it.
    And yet the older guy’s reaction had left a bitter taste in my mouth. Had Ortiz been right? Was the park’s appeal due to this kind of blood sport spectacle?
    Truth be told, I couldn’t be sure.
    But what I was sure about, was that I’d seen enough.
    It was time to get some answers.

Chapter Four
     
     
    ‘No,’ the man said as he handed me back the Polaroid of Benjamin Hooker. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never seen him before.’
    I was sat in a comfortable leather armchair in the plush, modern office of Professor Donald P. Groban, the man Ortiz had identified as the person who had recruited TJ back in Albuquerque.
    We’d completed the tour of the park, and as the hours went by, I’d continued to be impressed. I still wasn’t sure about the idea of people getting excited about watching animals kill each other, but I had to admit that the overall impression was of a pretty professional operation which looked just as good as anything running in Africa. As far as I was concerned, General Badrock deserved every success with the place.
    When I’d returned to the front gate and the visitor center, I’d found the company offices and asked to speak to Groban. I’d had to wait, but had eventually been granted an audience.
    Groban was the park’s director of operations, the recipient of a PhD from Cornell and the previous assistant director of San Diego Zoo and Singapore Zoo. He was obviously an expert in his field, and once again I had to question Ortiz’s assertion that Badrock Park was being mismanaged.
    There were some anomalies though.
    Such as the other person in the room with us, seated far behind me at the other side of the office.
    He’d not been introduced, but I recognized his craggy, weather-beaten features from my online investigation the night before.
    His name was Miles Hatfield, and he was head of park security.