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 Africannight 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.”
The suspect kept a leisurely pace through the suburbs and took Kabulonga Road off the roundabout. Zoe glanced in her mirror and saw a new pair of headlights behind her.
That was fast
, she thought. Two turns later, the suspect stopped outside an iron gate manned by a guard. Zoe drove past the gate and saw the upper story of a European-style villa over the electrified walls.
He’s a member of the elite
, she thought,
and he lives in my neighborhood
.
She checked her mirror and saw the outline of Joseph’s face in the glow of her brake lights. At the end of the road, she reversed course and drove slowly back toward the gate. Turning off her headlamps, she pulled to the grassy shoulder fifty yards from the driveway. She saw the guard standing in a puddle of light cast by wall-mounted security torches. He glanced her way and then ambled back to his chair.
Zoe used her iPhone to download a satellite image of her location. She zoomed in until she could see the layout of the property beyond the gate. The grounds had the appearance of a park with grass and trees surrounding the house and two outbuildings, one of which looked like a garage. Beside the house was a swimming pool.
Joseph pulled up behind her and turned off his engine. Before long, another vehicle turned into the driveway. It was the black Jaguar fromthe hotel. The guard opened the gate, allowing the sedan to enter the property. Zoe conjured the older man in her memory—the piercing black eyes, the flared nose and strong jaw, the expanding waistline and bespoke suit—and compared him to the thin man.
Father and son
, she guessed.
She heard her phone ring. “How did you find him?” Joseph asked when she picked up.
She told him the story, omitting only the detail about her father.
He was silent for a moment. “You didn’t get a picture of him, did you?”
“Why would I have done that?”
Joseph grunted. “We need something to show the witnesses. I’m going to stick around.”
“He might not leave until morning.”
“It won’t be the first time I’ve sat up all night.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No, your truck’s too visible. Did you get the license number of the SUV?”
She found the image on her iPhone and recited the number for him.
“Thanks. I’ll call my friend at the Department of Road Transport in the morning.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“He owes me a favor.”
She studied the guard sitting beside the ornate gate. Instead of slouching with his legs crossed, he sat erect with his hands resting on his knees. “There’s something peculiar about that guard,” she said. “He looks ex-military.”
Joseph murmured his agreement. “He’s also sitting outside the walls after dark, not inside in the guard shack.
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 Africannight 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.”
The suspect kept a leisurely pace through the suburbs and took Kabulonga Road off the roundabout. Zoe glanced in her mirror and saw a new pair of headlights behind her.
That was fast
, she thought. Two turns later, the suspect stopped outside an iron gate manned by a guard. Zoe drove past the gate and saw the upper story of a European-style villa over the electrified walls.
He’s a member of the elite
, she thought,
and he lives in my neighborhood
.
She checked her mirror and saw the outline of Joseph’s face in the glow of her brake lights. At the end of the road, she reversed course and drove slowly back toward the gate. Turning off her headlamps, she pulled to the grassy shoulder fifty yards from the driveway. She saw the guard standing in a puddle of light cast by wall-mounted security torches. He glanced her way and then ambled back to his chair.
Zoe used her iPhone to download a satellite image of her location. She zoomed in until she could see the layout of the property beyond the gate. The grounds had the appearance of a park with grass and trees surrounding the house and two outbuildings, one of which looked like a garage. Beside the house was a swimming pool.
Joseph pulled up behind her and turned off his engine. Before long, another vehicle turned into the driveway. It was the black Jaguar fromthe hotel. The guard opened the gate, allowing the sedan to enter the property. Zoe conjured the older man in her memory—the piercing black eyes, the flared nose and strong jaw, the expanding waistline and bespoke suit—and compared him to the thin man.
Father and son
, she guessed.
She heard her phone ring. “How did you find him?” Joseph asked when she picked up.
She told him the story, omitting only the detail about her father.
He was silent for a moment. “You didn’t get a picture of him, did you?”
“Why would I have done that?”
Joseph grunted. “We need something to show the witnesses. I’m going to stick around.”
“He might not leave until morning.”
“It won’t be the first time I’ve sat up all night.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
“No, your truck’s too visible. Did you get the license number of the SUV?”
She found the image on her iPhone and recited the number for him.
“Thanks. I’ll call my friend at the Department of Road Transport in the morning.”
“Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“He owes me a favor.”
She studied the guard sitting beside the ornate gate. Instead of slouching with his legs crossed, he sat erect with his hands resting on his knees. “There’s something peculiar about that guard,” she said. “He looks ex-military.”
Joseph murmured his agreement. “He’s also sitting outside the walls after dark, not inside in the guard shack.
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