The dapis seemed to give up chasing him. Amaury staggered to a halt and was bending over to catch his breath—maybe even vomit—when he spotted Jeukens staring at him from behind a stand of chest-high bushes.
“What are you doing here?” the Afrikaner said.
“Running for my life.” He looked around. “The dapis haven’t attacked you?”
Jeukens showed a puzzled frown. “Of course not. They’re not vio—” His eyes widened. “Have they made spears?”
“Yes! You have seen them then?”
“No, but Bakari gave them a beautiful demonstration of aggression and the use of a spear.”
He looked nervous, edgy. Was he hiding something?
“What did you do with all the phones?”
“Nothing.”
Definitely hiding something. Amaury stepped toward him.
“Let me see what you are doing back there.”
“No-no. Stay where you are!”
Amaury pushed through the bushes and saw—what? What was he looking at? Two green cylinders …
“Those … those look like chemical containers.”
Yes! A biohazard symbol peeked through the green paint.
Merde … this couldn’t be good.
Jeukens moved to block him. “No, it’s experimental—”
Amaury shoved him aside and moved closer. Something taped to the sides. Images flashed like sparks—phones … wires … putty blocks … battery packs … detonator caps …
“Putain!” Bombs attached to poison! He saw VX on the side of one canister. “VX? What is VX?”
“Nothing to worry about. It’s just—”
And then screaming. Nearby. Someone thrashing through the undergrowth. It sounded like Bakari—had to be Bakari.
Then the man himself appeared, running blindly—blindly because of the screeching dapis clinging to his head, stabbing at his eyes, his throat. They leaped off as one, leaving him with miniature spears jutting from his bloody eye sockets and his own knife jammed into the side of his throat. Their departure unbalanced him. He tripped, fell. He landed face-first, right at their feet, driving the spears deep into his brain. All four limbs went into rigid spasms, his body convulsed twice, then he lay still.
Amaury heard a strangled sound—Jeukens was bent over, retching, but nothing came up.
He straightened and stared at him. “What have you done to this place—to them?”
What indeed? His Paradise, his Eden … ruined … lost.
He shook it off. None of that was important now. These two canisters—they mattered.
“VX? Is that what you tried to poison us with? And now you want to finish the job? Have you gone crazy?”
He started toward Jeukens, hands reaching for his throat, but stopped short when the Afrikaner held up a phone.
“All I have to do is press the talk button and all this goes up.”
“I don’t believe—but you’ll kill yourself as well.”
A sad smile. “That’s become the plan.”
He was serious. He intended to die here. Amaury’s knees went rubbery. He wasn’t ready for death.
He glanced at the canisters, saw the phones, the blocks of plastique—
Wait. On each … only one wire from the battery pack attached to the detonators. The madman hadn’t finished wiring the devices.
Amaury leaped at Jeukens, got both hands around his throat, and squeezed with everything he had. They staggered in a circle, tripped over each other’s feet, and tumbled to the ground next to Bakari. As they rolled back and forth, Jeukens’s face began to purple.
Amaury hadn’t been able to shoot the innocent pilot, but he could kill this murderous bastard—he would kill him. Strangle the life out of him, and enjoy every second of—
A blaze of pain—a searing agony enveloped his gut. He released his grip and struggled to his knees. Jeukens held a bloody knife—Bakari’s knife. How…? A glance showed it was no longer in the Shangaan’s throat.
The pain toppled him back to the ground. He looked at where his hands clutched the wound … dark, dark blood leaking between the fingers. The world blurred. He was spinning …