She froze, her senses on high alert. She stared into the shadows. Something was not quite right, but she couldn’t tell what it was. A memory came to her suddenly: Johannesburg, 2010. The night she had stayed late at work; the long walk to the car; the gang that had appeared out of nowhere; the guns they had pointed at her face; the thought that she was about to die.
Suppressing her nervousness, she looked toward the silver SUV, now fifteen feet away. For some reason, the driver had backed into the space. To see the trunk, she would have to walk around the vehicle. She focused on the hood and traced out the emblem in the dark. It was the three-pointed star of Mercedes Benz. Her heart soared. Dominic saw a Mercedes.
She stepped around the SUV. The shadows here were nearly complete. She reached into her purse, thinking to use the flashlight app on her iPhone, when she heard scratches on asphalt. She swiveled around and saw two men crouching behind the next car. One of them was holding an object in his hand. The fear came upon Zoe in an instant.
She was sure the object was a gun.
Kicking off her heels, she took off barefoot across the lot. She heard a muffled shout and poured on the speed. She didn’t have enough of a lead to use the cars as a screen. Her only option was to reach the hotel. She ran through the rows of vehicles, bypassing the Land Rover and sprinting toward the brightly lit entrance.
Two hundred feet. One hundred.
At once she realized something—the only footsteps she could hear were her own. She glanced over her shoulder and saw no one behind her. Suddenly, an engine roared and a yellow sports car careened across the lot, heading in her direction. For a second she stood transfixed. Then she jumped out of the way.
The truth dawned on her slowly. They aren’t muggers; they’re car thieves.
“Are you all right, miss?” said a male voice, as the sports car sped out of the lot and vanished into the night.
She turned around, feeling an extraordinary sense of relief. The man was older—perhaps sixty—and slightly heavyset, though his girth was concealed by an elegant three-piece suit. Beside him stood a gaunt young man in a pink dress shirt and expensive jeans.
She nodded. “I think they just stole that car.”
The older man followed her eyes. “I’m glad you were not injured.”
“I should call the police,” she said.
“You could, but they would not be helpful. The owner of the hotel is a friend. I will alert him about the incident. Insurance will replace the car.”
Zoe frowned, thinking of Joseph, but decided to take the man’s advice. She hadn’t seen the faces of the thieves, and she had no information about the car beyond its color. The man offered to escort her to her vehicle, and she agreed. She chatted with him briefly, but he didn’t offer his name or that of his companion. The younger man didn’t speak at all.
Zoe locked herself in the Land Rover and sighed, letting the residue of fear flood out of her. She watched through the windshield as the men shook hands and parted. The older man angled toward the black Jaguar she had seen earlier, and the younger man disappeared down the lane. At once Zoe remembered her lost shoes and the Mercedes SUV. With the thieves gone and the lot no longer deserted, she decided to take another look.
She pulled out of the space and drove down the lane, retracing the path she had taken on foot. At the end of the row, she looked toward the last rank of cars. Her jaw dropped when she saw the empty parking space. Seconds later, the silver Mercedes passed her in the lane, the young man in the pink shirt behind the wheel. She craned her head around but couldn’t see his bumper in the gloom. The thought struck her with sudden force: He matches the profile exactly.
She made a swift U-turn and followed the SUV. The man made a left on Haile Selassie Avenue and then a right on Los Angeles Boulevard. When traffic opened up, Zoe pressed down on the accelerator and gained on the SUV. She pulled to within two car lengths of the vehicle and studied its bumper. Staring back at her across the African night was the Lusaka Golf Club crest, positioned to the left of the plate and below the emblem of Mercedes Benz.
She took out her iPhone and opened the camera, zooming in until the license plate and the crest stood in opposite corners of the frame. The plate was slightly blurred but the characters were legible. She took a few pictures and then called Joseph and told him everything.
He whistled. “Don’t get too close. I’ll meet you at the Kabulonga roundabout.”
“Hurry!” She dropped back and changed lanes. “We’ll be there in three minutes.”