David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

His fingers rigid on his rifle, the hunter watched the reluctant elephants finally overcome their nervousness and approach the water hole. They were so magnificent. He focused his intensity, clasped his rifle's trigger, and slowly, angrily, swiveled his vision, scanning the grassland around the water hole.

Again the hunter's nerves tingled, instincts quickening.

To his right, he saw motion. Figures rose from the shelter of waist-high grass. These figures, too , held rifles.

Men! Dressed in camouflage khaki, the same as himself!

Other hunters!

But he and they weren't competitors. Not at all. Quite the contrary. They existed in a complex deadly condition of symbiosis. Their purpose demanded his purpose, and with angry resolve, the executioner swung his rifle toward those predators.

Even from a distance, he could tell that they weren't using hunting rifles but automatic weapons – M-16s and AK-47s. He'd stumbled upon the evidence of their slaughter too many times before. Entire herds destroyed, riddled with bullets, their carcasses rotting in the sun, their tusks grotesquely hacked from their faces, their meat – which could have been used by starving natives – left for ravaging jackels and swarming maggots.

God damn those other hunters.

To hell!

Which was exactly where this hunter intended to send them.

Careful not to reveal himself, he slowly stood, raised his rifle, braced it against his shoulder, intensified his vision through the rifle's high-enlargement sights, steadied his finger on the trigger, and with enormous satisfaction, squeezed.

Without removing his gaze from the rifle's sights, he saw – in closeup – the predator's skull blow apart.

Nothing like explosive bullets.

At once, the hunter saw another predator surge upward from the grass, recoil in horror, raise his hand to his mouth, and stumble back, fleeing.

No problem.

With a slight shift of angle and focus, the hunter shot yet again.

And blew the second predator's chest apart.

So how does it feel? the hunter thought. When you died, did you feel like… did you identify with… did you imagine… and regret… and feel sorry for… the agony you caused so many of God's magnificent irreplaceable creatures? The elephants?

Shit, no. You're incapable of emotion, except for greed.

But you're not feeling that now, are you?

You're not feeling anything .

Because, you bastards, you're one less curse on the planet.

Native bearers scrambled from the waist-high grass and fled toward a distant ridge. Their panicked outlines were tempting, but the hunter restrained his trigger finger and lowered his rifle. His message had been delivered. He understood – although disapproved of – their motives.

The native bearers needed employment. Yes.

They needed money. They needed food.

But no matter their desperation, they shouldn't help to destroy their heritage! The elephants were Africa! The elephants were…!

The hunter's anger diminished. His churning stomach made him want to vomit. As the native bearers scrambled below the curve of the distant ridge, he stood with professional caution, assessed the grassland around him, regretted that the elephants had been spooked by his gunshots and had retreated from their desperate need to drink from the shallow, muddy, water hole, but he felt tremendous pride that he'd done his duty.

It took him five minutes to reach the first of his executed predators. His dead antagonist looked pathetic, the robust man's skull blasted open, his blood soaking into the dirt. But then -

– the hunter reminded himself -

– the dead elephants looked even more pathetic. Because when alive, so magnificent, the elephants had been a triumph of creation.

An example had to be made.

The hunter removed a pair of pliers, knelt, propped open the corpse's mouth, and began the necessary but repulsive work of reinforcing the example.

'Ivory,' he muttered, his voice choked. 'Is that what you want? Ivory ? Well, here, damn it, let me help you out. I mean, unlike the elephants, you've got all the ivories anybody needs.'

With torturous effort, the hunter began to yank out each and every one of the corpse's teeth.

He set them neatly in a pile beside the sunken-mouthed corpse.

He then proceeded toward his other victim.

By every means necessary…

Examples…

Reprisals…

Had to be made!

The slaughter had to be stopped!

'I'm sorry,' Craig said.

'For what?'

'Really, I didn't mean to upset you this much.'

'It's not your fault,' Tess said, 'I had to… I needed to see that apartment. Earth Mother Magazine won't go out of business because I'm not there. I wouldn't be much good to them anyhow. I've got some thinking to do.'

With a troubled expression, Craig double-parked on the noisy, crowded street outside Tess's loft in SoHo. 'Well, while you're thinking, remember your promise. Homicide will investigate thoroughly, but if something occurs to you that might help explain what we found in Joseph's apartment, let me know.' The lieutenant gave her a card. That's my home telephone number at the bottom. If it's important, don't wait to call me at the office.'

'Hey, don't worry. If I have to, I'll call you in the middle of the night.'

Craig grinned. 'That's fine with me. I'm a very light sleeper.' He coughed. That is, when I sleep at all.'

'Which reminds me.' Tess fumbled in her purse. 'I almost forgot. While I waited for you to pick me up, I brought you a couple of presents.'

'Oh?'

'A copy of our magazine. Maybe that'll help put you to sleep.'

'I doubt it. If anything, I'm sure it'll keep me awake. You have my word – I'll read it. Cover to cover.'

'I'll have a quiz prepared. Also, I brought you this.'

She handed him a box of cough drops.

Craig looked amused. Thanks. People don't often give me anything – except grief.' He cleared his throat. Take care, huh?'

'You, too.' Echoing Joseph's words, she surprised herself by adding, 'God bless.'

Craig nodded.

After getting out of the car, Tess watched the lieutenant drive away. Pretending to climb the steps to her apartment building, she waited until Craig's car disappeared around a corner. Then, instead of entering her building, she walked briskly in the opposite direction.

Toward a shop down the street.

QUICK PHOTO, a sign said on the window. A bell rang when Tess opened and shut the door. A middle-aged Hispanic clerk glanced up from stacking boxes of film behind the counter. His voice had no trace of an accent when he asked, 'Can I be of help?'

Tess hesitated. The clerk's tawny skin… There was something about… It reminded Tess of Joseph's skin. She'd assumed that Joseph's swarthy skin was due to a tan.

But maybe…

She wondered, Could Joseph have been Hispanic! That would explain the Spanish book on his shelf.

'Yes. In your window, you advertise one-hour film processing.'

'Of course. But for an extra charge,' the clerk said.

'No problem.' Tess unloaded her camera and handed the clerk the film. 'It's important. I need it back as soon as possible.'

'One moment.' The clerk took the film through a door behind him and returned a half-minute later. 'My brother is beginning to process it now.' He poised a pen above an order form. 'Your name?'

Tess gave him all the information he needed.

The clerk handed Tess a claim check. 'Is there anything else I can help you with?'

'Yes. I want more film. Three rolls. Thirty-six exposures each. ASP two hundred.' From trial-and-error, Tess had learned that, for her simple, easy-to-carry, inexpensive camera, an ASP of two hundred was a good compromise for getting clear indoor and outdoor pictures. 'I… You look… Do you speak Spanish?'