Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. He was guiding two Frenchmen in the very heart of lion country, when a hand rose up from the bush of South Africa's wild Kruger National Park and waved a casual good morning hello. In front, a magnificent elephant bull ambled across the grand vista that was Kruger. Neville's clients--two very senior corporate VIPs, out to see their fellow carnivores--did not see the hand. They were pointing up front at the big tusker and talking excitedly. Always, with elephants, you kept a sharp eye and the Land Rover in reverse, ready to go in case of a charge. That and all the other rules of the bush, Neville Edwards understood well, for he was a veteran safari guide with years of experience. But this hand? This wave? Edwards did not understand it and he could not ignore it. No one should be in the wild of Kruger on foot and this puzzled him. Now the hand was summoning him. With an odd tremble, it seemed to gesture him forward, beckoning. He brought his binoculars to the spot to see what the person wanted, focused the murky oval field of his vision and it was then that the black-backed jackal popped crisply into view. The scavenger was worrying an arm and the dead body it was attached to. The hand danced above, still waving. Then the jackal changed its grip. The hand and arm dropped and a human head then flopped into view and fell, flopped and fell, impossibly relaxed. There was a brief moment for Edwards when lucid thoughts crossed his mind. A woman's hand, he thought, not a man's, as the fingers were slender. A Mozambique refugee, he knew. The poor woman! She had tried it--tried to walk the Kruger.