”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.”