Master of the Game by Sidney Sheldon

Margaret’s eyes were blinded by tears. No one would harm little Jamie, would they? Of course not.

Mrs. Talley reached down and took Kate from Margaret’s arms.

“Try to sleep.”

She took the baby into the nursery and laid her down in her crib. Kate was looking up at her, smiling.

“You’d better get some sleep too, little one. You’ve got a busy life ahead of you.”

Mrs. Talley walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

At midnight, the bedroom window silently slid open and a man climbed into the room. He walked over to the crib, threw a blanket over the infant’s head and scooped her up in his arms.

Banda was gone as quickly as he had come.

 

 

It was Mrs. Talley who discovered that Kate was missing. Her first thought was that Mrs. McGregor had come in the night and taken her. She walked into Margaret’s bedroom and asked, “Where’s the baby?”

And from the look on Margaret’s face, she knew instantly what had happened.

 

 

As another day went by with no trace of his son, Jamie was on the verge of collapsing. He approached David Blackwell. “You don’t think anything bad has happened to him?” His voice was barely under control.

David tried to sound convincing. “I’m sure not, Mr. McGregor.”

But he was sure. He had warned Jamie McGregor that the Bantus neither forgave nor forgot, and it was a Bantu who had been cruelly murdered. David was certain of one thing: If the Bantus had taken little Jamie, he had died a horrible death, for they would exact their vengeance in kind.

Jamie returned home at dawn, drained. He had led a search party of townspeople, diggers and constables, and they had spent the night looking without success in every conceivable place for the young boy.

David was waiting when Jamie walked into the study. David rose to his feet. “Mr. McGregor, your daughter has been kidnapped.”

Jamie stared at him in silence, his face pale. Then he turned and walked into his bedroom.

Jamie had not been to bed for forty-eight hours, and he fell into bed, utterly exhausted, and slept. He was under the shade of a large baobab tree and in the distance across the trackless veld a lion was moving toward him. Young Jamie was shaking him. Wake up, Papa, a lion is coming. The animal was moving toward them faster now. His son was shaking him harder. Wake up! Jamie opened his eyes. Banda was standing over him. Jamie started to speak, but Banda put a hand over Jamie’s mouth.

“Quiet!” He allowed Jamie to sit up.

“Where’s my son?” Jamie demanded.

“He’s dead.”

The room began to spin.

“I’m sorry. I was too late to stop them. Your people spilled Bantu blood. My people demanded vengeance.”

Jamie buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my God! What did they do to him?”

There was a bottomless sorrow in Banda’s voice. “They left him out in the desert. I—I found his body and buried him.”

“Oh, no! Oh, please, no!”

“I tried to save him, Jamie.”

Jamie slowly nodded, accepting it. Then dully, “What about my daughter?”

“I took her away before they could get her. She’s back in her bedroom, asleep. She’ll be all right if you do what you promised.”

Jamie looked up, and his face was a mask of hatred. “I’ll keep my promise. But I want the men who killed my son. They’re going to pay.”

Banda said quietly, “Then you will have to kill my whole tribe, Jamie.”

Banda was gone.

 

 

It was only a nightmare, but she kept her eyes tightly closed, because she knew if she opened them the nightmare would become real and her children would be dead. So she played a game. She would keep her eyes squeezed shut until she felt little Jamie’s hand on hers saying, “It’s all right, Mother. We’re here. We’re safe.”

She had been in bed for three days, refusing to talk to anyone or see anyone. Dr. Teeger came and went, and Margaret was not even aware of it. In the middle of the night Margaret was lying in bed with her eyes shut when she heard a loud crash from her son’s room. She opened her eyes and listened. There was another sound. Little Jamie was back!