Chapter Four

Tim started the day tracing the whereabouts of the diamond men, Brandt and Kuefer. Yes, they'd been in Botswana recently; last arriving two weeks ago, according to the Interpol logs. He could see at least four other arrivals of them in the last six months. They must really love diamonds. To be sure, they registered their travel as being for business, representing a firm that used diamond-tipped cutters. All very legit-sounding.

And there was no record of their departure from their last visit. Tim stared at the screen, then tried to get the passenger manifest from Gaborone Air. No luck there; the airline didn't share this information with other countries, and Tim knew better than to try to hack into any Botswana government sites. He thought and thought.

- - - - -

In half an hour he was back in Mma Dikeledi Motalaote's office, explaining the issue over her now-familiar glare. Gradually her look grew less stony. Tim idly wondered what it would be like to work for a female Gibbs.

She turned to her own computer, and tapped at it. Within minutes she was pulling a sheet of paper out of her printer. "Here you are, Rra. They are on the 1400-hour flight to J'burg, tomorrow."

"If they've committed a crime as serious as murder—three murders—they may not come back for a long while," Tim remarked soberly. "Can't your people pick them up at the airport?"

"And charge them with what, Rra? It is still only suspicion. And I tell you, I would be just as happy if they did not come back for a long time. But you, you are law enforcement, Rra. You know how it works. If you can find some evidence, something for a charge that we can take to court, we will arrest them."

Tim thanked her and left. To be sure, the US could always ask for extradition of the two men from Germany once they returned, with evidence, but that would mean Germany would have to find them. If indeed they could be linked to the crime. No, better to get them while they were still in Botswana. That meant they had only a day to do so.

- - - - -

"Is that a hippo? I think that's a hippo!" Tony said eagerly, his camera raised.

"That is a hippo, yes, Tony," said Ziva, focusing her own camera. "Now stop jostling me."

"You have hippos in Israel?"

"In the zoos."

"Stop rocking the boat, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped. They were on a tour; the last one that the three seamen had taken. The first part of the five-hour tour was by mini-bus, but this was by motor boat. Five other people had signed up for the tour, but only two had chosen to take the boat part; the other three were doing a short hike with the assistant tour guide. Gibbs' team had decided not to split up, since they'd been assured by the tour guide that the seamen had done the boat trip. Now they were looking for clues to the drowning.

The trouble was, water was everywhere. Without more information, it seemed impossible to determine where the men had died.

Much less, why.

Gibbs watched Tony and Ziva laughing and taking pictures. He sat silent, pensive, knowing there must be a clue somewhere…

Back on land, it was much the same. Many pictures were taken of birds and the brightly-colored flowers. Ziva took a picture of Tony, smiling, standing before a tree, unaware that a monkey just above him was about to drop fruit on him. Gibbs grinned at that.

He reached for his cell phone, and for the twentieth time, put it back. There was no coverage out here. Majafhe would be waiting by the landline phone at the lodge in case Tim or Ducky called. "Come on, you two," he called. "Let's get back to the lodge."

"Last one to the bus is leopard food!" cried Tony, dashing for it. He skidded to a sudden stop on seeing a real leopard in the trees, and Ziva crashed into him. Gibbs' only photo of the trip, and his triumph, was a picture of them in that tangled heap.

- - - - -

One thing that bugged Tim was why the seamen's bodies had been moved all the way from the Delta (since it seemed now certain that that was where they had drowned) to near Gaborone, around 600 km. If it was simply a matter of murder, why not leave them in the Delta? Would it be because they might be found quickly? It seemed more likely that they were dropped in eastern Botswana to draw attention away from the Delta. Sure, it would be evident that they had drowned…but the further away from the vast Delta one got, the less likely the place of death would be. Perhaps the killer(s) thought that the scavengers might destroy most of the evidence.

But something had happened out there in the Delta; something that the killer, or killers, was trying to hide. Were the seamen in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or were they caught up in something shady?

He hiked down to the seamen's hotel. "Oh, Dumela, Rra! (Hello, sir!)" he said in surprise at seeing the manager of his own hotel chatting with the desk clerk. Hastily he added the traditional morning greeting, "O tsogile jang? (Did you sleep well?)"

The manager responded in kind, and with a smile on Tim's using the Setswana. "You can also say, 'O kae?', which is a little less formal term. You would say, I think, 'How are you?'"

Tim repeated it a few times, softly, committing it to memory. "I wanted to see our seamen's room again—are you connected with this hotel as well?"

"Yes, our company owns both properties. I help out here as needed. Margaret, get Rra McGee the key to room 108, please."

- - - - -

In the room, Tim went over the surfaces. All of the seamen's belongings had been packed up by Tony and Ziva yesterday, including the contents of the waste baskets. But was there something else…?

He tried to imagine the men's thoughts. Arrived in Botswana. According to what Tony and Ziva had learned, they spent their first day here harmlessly sightseeing and buying guide books to the Delta. No mention of diamonds, but a poor E-1 sailor might find it hard to resist a gem, if offered it as part of the pay for doing a little diamond smuggling. So if Brandt and Kuefer were diamond smugglers, what were they doing clear across the country in the Delta, when the diamond mines were closer to Gaborone?

Had the seamen made it at all to the diamond mines? No; they'd drowned. And their bodies were dumped near Gaborone.

Tim peered under a bed. Something small was there…He shone his pocket penlight on it, then stretched to reach it. A little figurine of a lion, stamped Souvenir of Botswana. Maybe it had been intended as a gift for a younger brother or sister, or niece or nephew. They must really have liked animals…

- - - - -

Lunch, in a busy café in downtown Gaborone, offered too many things (mostly meat things) that smelled oh-so-tempting. Tim sat in air-conditioned comfort with a plate of matemekwane (dumplings) with grilled chicken and marula melon. He took a picture of the serving to prove he'd purchased native food, and then gobbled the delicious food down, with half a mind to buy a second serving.

His phone rang. Ducky, calling to say that they were done with the pre-autopsy work, and were heading back to the hotel to pack. Once the paperwork had been done to release the bodies for shipment, he and Jimmy would head for the air base to meet the US military transport.

"Did you find anything else on the bodies?" Tim asked.

"Not really. Small scratches on the hands and arms, consistent with a trip to the Delta, I would surmise. Oh, well. See you back in Washington, Timothy."

Seconds later the phone rang again. Gibbs. "We've gone through everything we can think of here. The only flight we could get out today is the last one from the city of Maun. It'll be 9 or so before we land in Gaborone. Anything new?"

Tim told him what he'd learned and surmised, which seemed woefully inadequate. It would be a shame to go back to the US with the case unsolved, but that's where it seemed to be headed. They were stumped, and time was finite.

- - - - -

Arriving back at his own hotel, Tim nodded to the manager, who was back where Tim was used to seeing him. Tim found that Ducky and Jimmy had already packed and gone. As he'd been told to, Tim transferred Gibbs' things to the small suite Tim shared with Tony so they could relinquish one of the hotel rooms.

Again he went over the Interpol data on the Germans. Everything pointed to diamonds. So did NCIS have to surmise that the seamen had been willing participants in the operation? All three men had unblemished records. If they were going to participate, why kill them? What had gone down wrong? Were they about to turn the Germans in? That would be a motive for murder.

When, around 5:30 Gibbs hadn't called again, Tim went out for dinner. This time he was after chotlho, a beef dish soaked in salt water until tender. Served with vegetables and magwinya (fat bread) and this time watermelon (a food thought to have originated in Botswana! his waitress said proudly), he was in bliss. I hope we don't leave Botswana before we get to try more native food…

He lingered over dinner, and it was full dark when he got back to the hotel. The manager stopped him. "Ah, Rra, there was a phone call for you a little while ago. From Rra Gibbs. He said there was a change in plans, and asked you to drive out to Sekoma to meet your team."

"What, did they somehow get an earlier flight?" Tim said mostly to himself.

"I do not know, Rra. That was all he said. Drive out and meet him. There is a café there; the Elephant Grounds. That is where they are. Here, you may have this map."

"Okay. Ke itumetse. (Thank you.) Sala sentle (Goodbye; stay well.)"

"Tsamaya sentle (Go well.)"

- - - - -

Sekoma was about 150 km west of Gaborone, heading toward the diamond mines. Gibbs must have tied the case into the diamonds, Tim thought as he pulled out of the city's bright lights. I wish he'd left more information. Why didn't he call my cell, though? Maybe I was in a dead zone and didn't know it.

Once outside the city and suburbs, streetlights vanished. He was on the open, asphalt highway, with only the minivan's lights to guide him. No wonder the hotel parking valet had urged him to use caution: even on high, the car beams only went so far. The moon was new, and Tim felt like he was driving in a closet. He was grateful for the road signs that popped up now and again.

The accident came without warning. Tim, driving at 80 kph, only saw a dark mass for an instant before he was thrown toward the windshield—no airbag, but at least the seatbelt held. The van lurched and rolled over and over, coming to rest finally on its side off the highway in the scrub brush.

Tim took a moment to orient himself. He ached where he'd been thrown back and forth in the rolling, and from banging into the steering wheel. He tasted blood in his mouth. What did I hit? I must have hit something. Another car? With difficulty he climbed out of the vehicle, and by the dim ambient light went back to the highway, where he tripped and fell over the mass before he saw it. An animal. A springbok or tsessebe or something. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, poor creature. It wasn't moving at all. He hoped it was dead and not still alive and suffering.

And he was now stuck out here, some 50 km outside the city. The van probably wasn't drivable after that collision, even if it were upright. I'll have to wait for rescue…

The sounds came from a little further off. Roars: lions? Barks: hyenas? Scavengers, getting the scent of fresh blood. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could see their shapes.

Tim looked down, feeling the dampness seeping through his clothes. And I have dead animal blood all over me…

- - - - -

On the flight from Maun, Tony turned to Ziva. "It's a shame Probie wasn't along. I got some great pictures today!"

Ziva smiled. "Yes, but knowing him, there would have been a dozen things in the Delta that he would be allergic to."

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, probably. But still, he missed a chance to get up close and personal with wild animals!"