The Leopard Hunts in Darkness
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The Leopard Hunts in Darkness by Wilbur Smith: In Manhattan, Craig Mellow is the toast of the literary world, a young writer whose bestselling novels and larger-than-life adventures are fueled by natural-born charisma. But Craig lost a limb and a legacy in Africa. And his heart still clings to the land.
A representative of the World Bank recruits Craig to return to his war-torn homeland--to use his knowledge of Zimbabwe's people, languages, and wildlife to stabilize its future. But once he sets foot on the continent, Craig cannot resist what runs in his blood…
Soon, this scion of a legendary family is caught in a new era of massive ivory poaching, of tribal warfare waged with modern killing tools, and international politics hardwired directly to Washington and Moscow. With a woman by his side and a traitor behind his back, Craig is about to learn a lesson of a brutal new age--if he can survive Africa one more time.
were visible to it for only seconds. Sally-Anne pulled a face. ‘Let’s hope they make nothing of us – there must be quite a bit of light aircraft traffic around here.’ She glanced at her wrist-watch. ‘Expected time of arrival, forty minutes.’ ‘All right,’ Craig said. ‘Let’s go over it one more time. You drop Sarah and me, then clear out again as quickly as possible. Back to the pan. Reload and refuel. Two days from now you come back. If there is a smoke-signal, you land. No signal and you head
prisoners.’ ‘Good.’ She had it perfectly. ‘Now the second group.’ ‘Five men for the perimeter guard towers—’ Comrade Lookout went through his instructions. ‘That’s it then.’ Craig stood up. ‘But it all depends on one thing. I’ve said this fifty times already, but I’m going to say it again. We must get the radio before they can transmit. We have about five minutes from the first shot to do it, two minutes for the operator to realize what is happening, two minutes to start the electric
leg walks on its own.’ And the others clapped their hands in approbation, and Craig poured each of them a whisky to celebrate his christening. ‘My name is Comrade Lookout,’ the leader told him. Most of the guerrillas had adopted noms-de-guerre. ‘This is Comrade Peking.’ A tribute to his Chinese instructors, Craig guessed. ‘And this,’ the leader indicated the youngest, ‘is Comrade Dollar.’ Craig had difficulty remaining straight-faced at this unlikely juxtaposition of ideologies. ‘Comrade
Waters?’ ‘Zambezi Waters. The electricians and plumbers are finishing up. I want to check it out.’ ‘I’ll fly up.’ She landed on the open ground beside the river where Craig’s labour gangs had surfaced a strip with gravel to make an all-weather landing ground and had even rigged a proper windsock for her arrival. The instant she jumped down from the cockpit Craig could see that she was furiously angry. ‘What is it?’ ‘You’ve lost two of your rhino.’ She strode towards him. ‘I spotted the
to turn back. I think the English expression is “riding the tiger”. I was forced to move on from one bad deed to another even worse.’ He paused, and then, in a rush, ‘Miss Jay, I personally recruited the killers of the Goodwin family from the rehabilitation centre. I told them where to go, what to do – and what to write on the wall. I supplied their weapons, and arranged for them to be driven to the area in transport of the Third Brigade.’ There was silence again, broken only by the throb of the