'No. I have to go.'

Over the next hour, back in his flat, Sam alternately sat on the bed or paced the confined s.p.a.ce of his room. At first he raged in silent fury. Dana's duplicity, her selfishness, her betrayal, infuriated him. How dare she keep such a secret for so long? Only when it suited her had she revealed the earth-shattering news to him. She'd cheated him of his son for all that time.

Coming, as it did, so soon after witnessing the viciousness of Lari, when his spirit had sunk so low, it was devastating.

Slowly the intensity and focus of his emotions changed from anger to sadness. He'd built and lost businesses; he'd found and abandoned relationships. What he didn't know, and would never know, was how his life might have been if he'd known about his son.

The question left a numbing vacuum at his core - a sense of enormous loss. A parallel universe had been in existence for twenty years. Now knowing he had a son, the man he thought he was vanished. He was not a businessman, a politician, a loner. He was a father.

Suffused throughout this surge of emotions was Dana - a vision from his wild and intemperate past. As she'd talked, unfolding her secret, he had trouble concentrating on it. Memories intruded: vivid recollections of their impetuous love-making. He saw himself tearing her underwear away, pushing her to the wall of his flat in m.u.t.h.aiga, and sinking into her as he smothered her with his mouth.

She'd changed little: a few lines and creases where once there were none, but she was still the vibrant and s.e.xy woman from his past.

He slumped onto the bed, trying to imagine how Dana could be so cruel. He recalled her explanation about why she kept her secret. He could almost forgive her, given the difficulties having a mixed-race child would have created. And he thought how much having her as his wife would have enormously complicated his life too.

Anger returned like a charging lion, demanding attention, roaring so loudly inside his head it erased all other thought. He stood and paced and pounded his fist into his palm until he felt suffocated.

At the open window he rested his hands on the sill. He was exhausted by the surge of emotion. A deep breath of the cool midnight air calmed him and, as he became more peaceful, his thoughts went to his son. He recalled his disillusionment after his good first impressions of him: not a bravely independent and conscientious worker but a Mau Mau sympathiser, perhaps even a full-fledged member of that brutal and misguided movement. He couldn't imagine how any child of his blood could be part of such an evil cult.

He took another cleansing breath of air. The boy had always been impetuous; and there was no doubting his commitment to an independent Kenya. There were likely plenty of young men in The Movement who had joined with good - if warlike - intentions. Kikuyu men were warriors after all.

Dana said Jelani knew Sam was his father. Why hadn't he declared himself? He might have been able to help him.

The problem stemmed from Dana not telling him about the boy. If she had, he could have found him, and steered him down the right path. Then he recalled that in those early years he'd been less than a model father, trading in smuggled gold and horseflesh. But if he knew he had a son, it all would have been different. They might have worked together, maybe built a farm.

He spent a restless night, with dreams where he and Jelani merged. Jelani was like an echo from a distant time; a different life. Even a distant land. A place where his genes and Jelani's were formed. He felt his son's love for Beth and the agony when he found her raped and murdered. He could feel his blood rise with Jelani's as he swore to avenge her.

He awoke with a start, remembering what Emerald had said about Jelani: he'd stormed out of Lari intending to find Dedan Kimathi - the person responsible for his fiancee's death. But Kimathi was a murderous tyrant, surrounded by psychopaths. His son probably knew where he was hiding and would be walking to his death.

He had to stop him, but he had no idea where Kimathi was hiding.

He only knew one man who might know, but Jomo Kenyatta was in gaol - a victim of Governor Baring's State of Emergency - and under maximum security. Even if he could get permission to see him, Sam could think of no way to convince Kenyatta to give him the information he needed to save his son.

It took Sam two phone calls to find where Jomo Kenyatta was imprisoned. It was more difficult to arrange a special visitor's pa.s.s as he was in solitary confinement, awaiting transfer to Lokitaung - a bleak outpost in the barren wilderness on Kenya's northern border.

In spite of the complications, Sam had his visitor's pa.s.s shortly after noon, and by three he was in the secure meeting area at the lock-up.

Kenyatta came from his cell, escorted by a policeman. He paused when he saw Sam sitting on the opposite side of the wide wooden table.

'w.a.n.gira? What are you doing here?'

'I need some information from you, Kenyatta.'

'Well, well. The famous Sam w.a.n.gira, member of the white man's Legislative Council, is asking help from a convicted Mau Mau sympathiser.'

'I'm not here as a member of the Legislative Council. This is a personal matter. Between Kikuyu brothers.'

'I see,' he said, nodding. 'Brothers, are we?'

'I need to know where I can find Dedan Kimathi.'

Kenyatta's chest-heaving laughter filled the small room. 'You're not the only one! When I've asked to see my lawyer, they tell me it's not possible. And yet here you are, Sam w.a.n.gira, a Legco man, here to tell me jokes.'

'I'm not joking. It's a matter of life and death. I must know.'

'Your life, my death. Are you not aware that I have an appeal pending? And you ask me to admit to knowing the whereabouts of the most wanted man in Kenya? Don't make me laugh, w.a.n.gira.'

Kenyatta stood to go.

Sam had nothing to offer - no way of buying the favour he needed. He and Kenyatta had been rivals all their lives and it appeared they would remain so. Kenyatta had no reason to help him.

Sam stood.

'I'm a father, d.a.m.n you, Kenyatta! Just like you.'

Kenyatta stared back to him. 'What is that to me?'

'And I've only just learned of my son,' Sam said, his voice falling away. 'I don't want to lose him so soon.'

Kenyatta shook his head, and headed towards the door.

Sam wanted to leap the table and hold him by the throat until he told him what he needed to know. An old memory flashed into his mind. 'You once predicted you'd be a leader one day,' Sam said. 'Well, congratulations, that much seems to be coming true. But you also said you owed me something for that time when I found you in the dry stream, surrounded by hyenas. Does Jomo Kenyatta keep the promises made by Johnstone Kamau?'

Kenyatta stopped. His shoulders dropped. He looked back at Sam, and studied him for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. 'He does.'

'There's no need for this to go any further,' Sam whispered, as Kenyatta resumed his seat.

Kenyatta's smile was grim. 'If it does, your congratulations are premature.' He was silent for a long time. Sam could almost see his second thoughts.

'I give you my word,' he said, his heart pounding.

'Kimathi's in the Barako camp,' Kenyatta said. 'He's the commander.'

'What happened to General Kago?'

If Kenyatta was surprised by Sam's knowledge of the Mau Mau hierarchy, he didn't show it.

'When all the Central Committee were arrested, the young ones - the illiterate hot heads in the forest - took over. I tell you, it's the end of them. And good riddance. I will make my way without them.'

'Barako! Did you say Barako?'

'Yes, why?'

'The Lincolns!' Sam muttered as he leaped to his feet, toppling his chair.

'What's wrong with you, w.a.n.gira?'

'What day is it? Is it the twenty-ninth?'

'It's the twenty-eighth. Are you mad?'

Sam banged on the door.

'Guard!' he called. 'Guard! Get me out of here!'

CHAPTER 61.

Jelani avoided the small village of Barako. He wanted no one to see him heading towards Mt Kinangop. His presence in such an isolated spot could only mean that he was going to the Mau Mau camp and, in Barako, The Movement had many supporters. Kimathi had introduced him to a few as he led him to the Mt Kinangop camp when General Kago was its commander.

He walked north through the almost trackless dense bush that clung to the lower ridges of Mt Kinangop until, in late afternoon, he entered one of the occasional clearings found throughout the Aberdares. It had been created by a large herd of browsing elephant. The trees within an area of some three or four acres had been torn down or stripped bare. As a boy he'd seen similar sites where, for reasons only known to the elephants, they found the area satisfactory in every regard and regularly returned to feast until the land was denuded. Such pockets of gra.s.sland had a beneficial effect on other grazers, and he disturbed a large number of impala and other antelope as he entered it.

It was growing dark and he was still an hour from Kimathi's camp. He decided to wait until morning. He didn't want to blunder into one of Kimathi's lookouts in the dark - he needed the element of surprise if he was to be successful.

He spread the canvas sheeting he'd brought from the car under a tree at the edge of the clearing and pulled the revolver from its sheath. It had been in the boot of the union's Ford since Chege Muthuri quit the movement. Jelani had forgotten about it until coldly planning this a.s.sault.

He checked the chambers. He'd never used a firearm in his life. Under the Emergency, even the possession of such a weapon invoked a mandatory death sentence.

His courage wavered. To attempt to murder the leader of the Mau Mau in his own camp was suicide. Then he thought about Beth; and the anger that immediately arose made breathing a difficult task. But it gave him strength.

It was dark and treacherous on the Naivasha a Nairobi road. Sam threw the car into the corners and thrashed it along the straight stretches, arriving at the small bar that Collins Mutisa frequented just before eight. He was relieved to find his man sitting alone with a jar of spirits in front of him.

Sam pulled out the chair opposite and leaned across the table to him.

'Mutisa,' he said in a whisper. 'I have to find the Barako camp.'

Mutisa blinked like an owl caught in the light. 'Habari, bwana,' he slurred. 'Habari yako?'

'Listen, I have to get to Barako urgently.'

'Well ... bwana, that is very very difficult.'

'd.a.m.n it, Mutisa, sober up. I need you.'

He looked bewildered. 'Sorry, bwana, just a few drinks, and ...' His voice trailed off into a mumble.

Sam reached across the table and took him by the scruff of his collar, shaking him so much that his head snapped back.

Mutisa's eyes bulged.

It was useless; Sam gave up. He consoled himself with the thought that it was probably foolish to try to find his way in the forest at night. He'd have a few hours in the morning before the sun melted the fog, and the Lincoln bombers took off on their secret mission to bomb the Mau Mau's Mt Kinangop camp, using coordinates that Sam himself had provided to General Erskine.

He pulled a couple of bench seats together. He would sleep for a couple of hours before trying again to get some sense from Mutisa.

Jelani slept poorly and awoke before dawn. His canvas sheet had done little to fend off the chill mountain air. He was stiff with cold and fatigue. When the clearing brightened with first light, he climbed out of his canvas coc.o.o.n, stretched, and vigorously rubbed his arms to warm them.

His hands shook with the cold as he checked the pistol, working the safety catch on and off and spinning the chamber. Then he replaced it in its sheath and tucked it into his belt.

The clearing skirted the lion's head landmark. On the other side was the path to the camp. He couldn't recall how much further it was from there, but he thought it probably another mile or so. He remembered a swampy lake fringed with rushes that would afford him the cover he needed to make his final approach. Before that, the path rose with the ridge; he'd be able to reconnoitre there and refine his plan.

The bush was coming alive with sounds. Every snap or scuttle in the undergrowth made his heart leap. A gentle breeze came up, shaking the dew from the high branches. It fell in heavy drops like the sound of approaching footsteps.

A hadada ibis gave its long mournful cry: Haw haw haw!

Following it was the shrill keening call of a fish eagle. He looked up. The clouds had cleared and the eagle hovered against a pale blue sky.

The lake! It must be close, which meant he was nearer to the camp than he thought.

He caught a movement out the corner of his eye. A man with matted hair, in a ragged shirt, trousers torn off at the knees and bare feet, stepped from the foliage.

He pointed the barrel of his ancient rifle at Jelani.

The Aberdare Ranges brooded in the long shadows of morning. Sam thrust his aching body through the bamboo forest where the thick poles resisted his every step. The dew on the scimitar leaves drenched him and the blades cut him and itched him, but he pressed on up the steep rise until he reached the crest.

The continuing cloud cover gave him hope. He had no way of knowing the exact time the bombers would come, but if the clouds didn't lift, the bombing run would be aborted. Of course, the Lincoln bombers were only part of the problem. His son was in even greater danger should he end up in the hands of the Mau Mau.

Before him stretched the endless foothills, climbing layer on layer into the hazy blue where the jungle disappeared into the clouds. On the rise directly ahead, was the lion's head rock. It was just as Collins Mutisa had described it when Sam left him at the track out of Barako village. Mutisa was suffering badly from the changa'a of the previous night, and Sam knew he'd be more hindrance than help, so he left him there to make his way home.

He arrived in a clearing and rested on a fallen tree while his heart pounded in his ears and his vision clouded with tears of exhaustion. He was fifty-four, and felt it.

Somewhere in the distance, a bull elephant grumbled in annoyance, then silence returned briefly before he heard rustling in the bush.

He froze. A small herd of male impala came into the clearing, pawing the ground in the heat of the rut and jousting with lowered antlers. They did mock battle for a few minutes before they caught his scent and bounded away.

He considered what to do when he reached Kimathi's camp. He now thought it unlikely that he would catch Jelani before he got there. He therefore needed to antic.i.p.ate Jelani's next move. What was in his head? Why had he come here? What did he plan to do? He guessed Jelani would do what Sam would have done at his age and under similar circ.u.mstances: he would try to kill Kimathi - the man responsible for the death of his loved one. But he knew Jelani was smart enough to know he must watch and wait for an opportunity. In that case, Sam might have time to find him before he put himself at risk. His next task would be to convince his headstrong son to abandon his mission. That would be more difficult, but it was a problem for another time.

He dragged himself to his feet, and followed the edge of the clearing towards lion's head rock. Just off to the side, under a tree, he noticed a canvas sheet. He kneeled to examine it and found it was clean, and appeared to have been very recently discarded. Had it been Jelani's?

He turned to the clearing to find it awash with sunlight. Above him, the cloud had lifted, and the sun flared brightly in a pale blue sky.

Jelani headed down the track with the rifle of his taciturn captor close to his back.

The Mau Mau camp was a shambles. There was no shame in living in huts made entirely of bush materials, nor of cooking on simple open fires that could be doused should enemy aircraft be heard, but the camp was dirty and unsanitary. There was nothing of the n.o.ble warrior in any of the men's demeanours. They watched him pa.s.s with greedy eyes: What did he have that could be useful to them?

Jelani and his guard were joined by two others and they led him to a hut, slightly larger than the others, but equally shoddily made. Kimathi sat outside it with a long-bladed knife, slicing strips of bark from a small sapling. He was now heavily bearded and his hair, which had been braided into Rastafarian rat-tails, had grown out, and hung in long matted coils. He had a rolled newspaper cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Jelani stood flanked by his escorts for some time without comment from Kimathi. He seemed preoccupied by his whittling. Finally, he looked up through the curling smoke with bleary red-rimmed eyes.

'So ... you've come,' he said, as if he'd been expecting no one else.

He took a long draw on the cigarette and exhaled a lung-full of smoke into the air above him. The acrid scent of cannabis struck Jelani's nostrils.

'h.e.l.lo, Dedan,' he said.