At the end of the workday, Joseph drove Zoe home in his truck. Sisilu shadowed them, keeping his distance. The next day and the day after that, they followed the same routine, as did their stalker in sunglasses. As Joseph had predicted, Sisilu was not alone. Sarge and Niza also noticed strange vehicles shadowing them by day and watching their houses at night. The mood among the legal team was tense. In the crucible of trial preparation, patience wore thin and tempers flared. Even the unflappable Sarge seemed agitated.
The evening before the trial, Zoe and Joseph joined the Prentices on the terrace for a feast of lamb kebobs and couscous and cucumber salad. The autumn air was cool, and the sky was full of stars. Tom and Carol kept the conversation lively with tales of their misadventures in Africa. Zoe chimed in with memories of her mother, and Carol picked up the narrative thread, sharing stories about Catherine’s life that Zoe had never heard—her meeting with Nelson Mandela before the fall of apartheid; the pressure she had put on the Clinton administration not to interfere with African countries distributing generic ARVs in violation of American pharmaceutical patents; the Deputy Secretary of State who had hit on her at a party after too many drinks; the ambassadors who had loved her and those who had despised her. Through all of this, Joseph seemed distracted. At one point, Zoe caught him staring at a cypress tree across the yard.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said and returned to his food.
After the Prentices went to bed, Zoe and Joseph walked through the bungalow as they did every night, checking the locks on all doors and windows. Then Zoe led him to the bedroom and tried to entice him with a kiss. Joseph, however, showed no interest in sex. He changed out of his clothes and slid under the covers, pausing only to say “goodnight” before his head hit the pillow. In less than a minute he was asleep.
Zoe slipped in beside him, enjoying his warmth. She lay awake and listened to the night birds and the gentle sound of his breathing. She thought of the future as it ought to be—of Kuyeya safe from men like Darious; of Trevor and Jenna tying the knot; of Joseph and love and what? A long-term relationship? A lifetime commitment? Was it possible? Sensible? What would that even look like? By midnight, her eyelids grew heavy and she, too, fell asleep.
The next sound she heard was a scream.
Her eyes flew open and her addled brain struggled to wake up. She heard a crash in the far reaches of the house. She glanced at Joseph and was struck with a blinding terror.
A human shape was leaning over the bed.
This time it was Zoe who screamed. The shape stiffened and she could almost see it looking at her. Then it vanished. In the grip of fright, she couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, could only react. Her hand shot out and threw back the mosquito net while her other hand found her glasses. Whirling around, she saw Joseph reaching for his rifle.
“Stay here!” he hissed and bolted toward the door.
To Zoe, however, staying behind felt like a death wish. She leapt off the bed and ran after him—down the hallway, through the guest quarters, and into the living room. She heard another scream and recognized the voice of Carol Prentice. A man shouted: “No!” Then something heavy hit the wall and Carol screamed again.
A moment later, Zoe saw a shape emerge from the hallway to the Prentices’ quarters and retreat into the darkened kitchen. Something glinted in its hand.
“He’s got a weapon!” Zoe yelled, as Joseph raised his gun into firing position.
She was utterly unprepared for the foot that appeared out of nowhere and tripped her. She sprawled headlong across the tile floor, losing her glasses. Before she could recover, strong arms lifted her off the ground, and she felt hot breath on her neck. The breath was followed by a blade.
A voice spoke loudly beside her ear. “No move! I kill!”
“Help,” she choked out even as the knife bit into her skin.
Joseph’s reaction was instantaneous. He pivoted on his feet and trained his rifle on the man who held her life in the balance. She looked down the barrel of the gun and shivered uncontrollably.
“Let her go,” Joseph commanded.
Her assailant tightened his grip. “Where is woman?” he barked.
At once Zoe understood. The intruders believed Anna was in the house.
“She’s far away,” said Joseph.
“Where?” the man yelled.
The next two seconds seemed to happen in slow motion—Joseph taking a step backward and saying, “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you”; the blade on her neck relaxing; the sudden muzzle flash; the momentous report of the blast; the searing pain at the tip of her ear as the bullet shot by a fraction of an inch off-target; the smell of acrid cordite and coppery blood.
Zoe shrieked and twisted out of the dead man’s grasp as he crumpled to the floor. Her mind was frozen in a state of shock, her ears ringing. She wanted to collapse on the couch and weep. But the second intruder was still at large.
She shoved her glasses into place and focused on the outline of Joseph’s face. They ran together toward the kitchen. The room was lit by a dim glow: the servant’s door was open. They stopped on the threshold beside a bank of light switches and scanned the shadows for movement. The night was perfectly still—no voices, no footsteps, not even a hint of wind.