The file ended.
"Well," Kit said heavily. "What do you make of that?" "Five hundred is a lot of money to demand for that information. Something's going on here."
Kit called up a map of Mozambique and replaced the video scenes on his office wall with the chart of southern Africa. "Mozambique..." he mused. "That's hell and gone from anything useful. And in 1542 there wouldn't have been any European exploration of the interior. Nothing out there but Shona and Bantu on the high veldt and San nomads in the Kalahari."
"And the Venda-Lemba Semitic groups of the eastern Transvaal,- Malcolm added. "They were isolated until 1898 for God's sake.'
"So why would Ripley demand so much money for this information?" Kit glanced up. "I wonder what Phil Jones has been up to lately?"
"I think we ought to find out."
"Agreed. You want to tackle him or shall I?"
Malcolm managed the first smile Kit had seen out of him in weeks. "You're too conspicuous, Kit. Everybody knows you're looking for traces of Margo. l'll follow that little weasel, see what he's up to, who he's hanging out with these days."
Kit nodded. "Sounds good. I'll give Bull a call. He's trying to find out who else might be missing."
Malcolm left while Kit dialed the phone.
The station manager apologized when he came on the line. "I've been meaning to call you this morning, except that Pteranodon sternbergi of Sue's got sick, then we had an emergency with the water filters and ... Oh, hell, you're not interested in my problems. Only a couple of people I can't account for, but they're interesting.'
"Oh?"
"One of 'em's that Welshman you tangled with."
"Kynan? The guy from Orleans?"
"The same. He and his longbow have gone missing."
A chill chased down Kit's back. "Go on."
"Frankly, I was afraid of foul play until I noticed who else is missing. Remember that big Afrikaner who came in a few years back when South Africa went to hell?"
"Yeah, I remember him." South Africa had suffered desperate damage from earthquakes, tidal waves, even volcanic eruptions in the aftermath of The Accident. The government had collapsed and thousands of people had fled the ensuing riots, massacres, starvation, and rampant plagues. "Koot van something," Kit said "Big guy about my age, if I remember right, maybe a little younger."
"Koot van Beek. Took up time guiding. Drifts from station to station, wherever there's work."
"So he's back?"
"Back and missing."
Kit gazed at the map on his video screens and tried to figure out why a freelance drifter like Koot van Beek, a displaced Welsh bowman, and Margo would have hooked up in connection with a gate that led to sixteenth century Mozambique.
"Thanks, Bull. That's very interesting news. I'll let you know if I come up with anything solid."
Kit pulled out the itemized library bill and studied Margo's recent research. Lift capacity and fuel consumption for a helium-filled ultralight-but with variable equations for hydrogen as an alternative lifting source. Endemic diseases of southern Africa and recommended inoculations or medical treatments where no inoculations were available. Geographical charts of Mozambique, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Botswana. Even-he grimaced-recommended medications to suppress menstrual flow.
"What the hell is that little idiot up to?"
Unless Kit were wide of the mark, Margo planned a lengthy air expedition into the heart of southern Africa, where Zimbabwe, Botswana, and South Africa met along the Limpopo River.
"But why?" There wasn't anything out there except crocodiles, wildebeest, and fatal diseases.
The phone rang. "Yeah?"
"Kit," Malcolm said in his ear, "this is really interesting: Phil just left Goldie Morran's. I asked around and people said he's been spending a lot of time with her. A lot of time."
Kit narrowed his eyes. -Goldie? Why would Phil Jones be spending time with an expert on currency, precious metals, and..."
It hit him. Kit widened his eyes and stared at the map. "My God..."
"What?" Malcolm asked sharply.
"Hang on. Hell, get back here. I have to pull a couple of files off the mainframe."
He hung up and swung around, accessing the library's mainframe in a fever of impatience. He sped through several files, correlating data against a search of known mineral sites-and hit paydirt. Kit whistled softly and sat back in his chair.
His office door crashed back. Malcolm was panting. "What?"
Kit swung his chair around. "Diamonds. That stupid little featherbrain has gone after a diamond source deBeers doesn't control."
"Diamonds?" Malcolm stared at the chart. "But Kit ... the nearest diamond fields must be, what, five or six hundred miles from Delagoa Bay?"
"Five hundred miles along the Limpopo River valley," Kit said grimly, punching up the chart from the file he'd accessed, "would put you right there."
A geologic map flashed up.
"What's up there? I thought the South African diamond sites were farther south in the Kimberley region or much farther west in the Kalahari?"
Kit strode around his desk and stabbed a finger toward a spot on the Limpopo just east of the confluence with the Shashe River coming down from the Botswana-Zimbabwe border. "That, my friend, is the site of the Seta Mine. Alluvial deposits in potholes along the Limpopo, gravel matrix rich in all kinds of goodies. Garnets, jade, corundum, gold, diamonds ... That idiot grandkid of mine has vanished into the heart of Africa on a harebrained scheme to bring back diamonds. Bet you the Neo Edo on it. And I can tell you exactly who put her up to it."
Malcolm groaned and said something profoundly ugly.
Kit ran a hand through his hair. "We were in Goldie's shop when I told Margo she was through as a trainee scout. And that avaricious, conniving, greedy old..." He couldn't even finish the tirade. "When I get through with Goldie Morran, she's going to wish she'd never laid eyes on Margo."
Kit stormed out of his office. Malcolm Moore trailed hastily behind.
Goldie Morran's smile disintegrated the moment Kit slammed open her door.
"Why, Kit. Hello. What can I do for you?"
"You can tell me why the hell you sent my granddaughter into the high veldt after your goddamned diamonds!"
Goldie Morran actually lost color. "Kit, I don't know what you're-"
"Cut the crap!" Kit stalked over to the counter and slammed both fists down. "You're not talking to a goddamned tourist!"
Goldie adjusted the high-necked collar of her oldfashioned dress. "No, I'm aware of that, Kit. Calm down. I'm not really hiding anything."
"The hell you're not."
"Kit Carson, either control your temper or get out of my shop!"
Kit swallowed the retort on his tongue. Then forcibly relaxed his fists. "Okay, Goldie. I'll be a good boy and refrain from taking your shop apart. Start talking."
She drew over a high stool and settled on it as though taking a throne. "You're aware, then, of Phil Jones' gate?"
"Yes. And where and when it leads."
"Fortunately for me, Ripley Sneed is an idiot. He didn't even think about the diamonds just lying around the interior waiting for someone to pick them up. Phil and I knew exactly where the most accessible deposits were, but we couldn't get there ourselves. Neither of us is a scout."
"You mean neither of you is crazy enough to risk your own hide. So you conned Margo into doing it for you."
Goldie's eyes flashed angrily. "Margo is an adult, Kit Carson, perfectly capable of making her own decisions. And, I might add, you've treated her very shabbily. She was only too happy to accept my offer."
"Margo is a half-trained child-a seventeen-year-old child." Goldie lost a little more color. "She thinks she knows enough to succeed All she knows is enough to get herself killed. When's she due back?"
Goldie fidgeted and glanced away.
"Goldie.. ."
The severe-faced woman who always reminded Kit of a duchess he'd once known cleared her throat delicately. "Well, as to that, now.. ."