“Pah! That dung heap beside the shopping center? That was only a forward outpost, nothing more. The ruins of the real Klipkoppie are two miles to the northwest. Christopher knows where.”
“Then why—?”
“Easier to suck tourists into the gift shops and restaurants if it’s in the center of town. Besides, the real Klipkoppie isn’t much to look at, and it’s hard to get to. Can’t have tourists getting themselves killed.” He clapped his palms against his thighs. “Right. So tell me the name of this ancestor of yours.”
“De Klerk. Paulos de Klerk.”
Manfred leaned back, clearly recognizing the name, staring at Tucker with new eyes. “The famous botanist?”
“You know him.”
“I do. Though I can’t say more than that. I actually forgot until you reminded me just now that he was a field medic. He’s much better known for those flower drawings of his.”
“It’s actually one of his journals that drew us down here. In one of his diaries, he mentioned Grietje’s Well several times. It seemed important to him.”
“Water was back then. It was the difference between life and death. Especially during the wars. When the Brits laid siege to a Boer fort, one of the first things they did was try to cut off access to water. A man can go weeks without food, but only a few days without water. For that reason, the Boer started building forts atop natural springs. Because of the importance of such water sources, the troops came to name them after loved ones, usually women: wives, daughters, nieces.”
Anya stirred. “And Grietje is Afrikaans for ‘Wilma.’ ”
Manfred nodded. “Wilma must have been dearly loved by whoever named that spring. But like I said, the springs of most forts bore women’s names. The key is to find out which fort it might be. Because your ancestor was a doctor, I’d still start with the ruins of Klipkoppie.”
Anya stared out toward the horizon, at the dry hills. “Do you know of any wells or springs up there?”
“No, but if this spring hasn’t dried up, there’ll be evidence of erosion on the surface from where the waters seasonally rise and fall. Christopher will know what to look for.”
Christopher appeared less convinced. “It will be hard to find. And we’re still not certain Klipkoppie is the right fort. With all the old Boer strongholds around here, it could be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Still, it gives us somewhere to start,” Tucker said.
“And in the meantime,” Manfred said, “I will look more deeply into the local history of your ancestor. Paulos de Klerk. Come by tomorrow afternoon and we’ll talk again.”
2:55 P.M.
“Should we head to the Klipkoppie fort now?” Christopher asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.
“How hard is it to reach?”
“It’s not far to the base of the fort’s hill, but there are no roads to the top. We must hike. Very steep, but I know the way.”
Tucker checked his watch. “When does the sun set here?”
“Remember you are south of the equator. It is our late summer, the end of our rainy season. So the sun won’t go down until a bit past seven o’clock.”
“That gives us roughly four hours.” He turned to Anya. “We can drop you back at the guesthouse on the way out of town. Let you rest. I’m not sure your orthopedist would approve of you going hiking.”
“And miss this chance?” She lifted her bad arm. “It’s fine. Besides, I’ve got my boots on. Might as well use them.”
Tucker heard happy thumping on the seat next to him.
“Sounds like it’s unanimous.”
Christopher turned the SUV and headed away from the guesthouse. He wound through the streets to the edge of Springbok, then out into the sun-blasted countryside.
They had traveled a couple of kilometers when Christopher’s phone rang.
Tucker felt a clutch of fear, wondering if they should have checked on Bukolov before setting out. But there was no way the old man could make the hike in this heat.
Christopher spoke in hushed tones on the phone, then passed the handset over his shoulder. “It’s for you. It’s Manfred.”
Both surprised and curious, he took the phone. “Hello?”
“Ah, my good fellow, glad I was able to reach you.” His words were frosted with excitement and pride. “I did some digging as soon as you left. It seems General Manie Roosa, your old ancestor’s commander, had a daughter. Named Wilhelmina.”
“Another version of Wilma.”
“Quite right. And listen to this. In one of Roosa’s field reports, he states and I quote, ‘Without Wilhelmina, that British bastard MacDonald would have been successful in his siege of our fort.’ I suspect he’s referring to Sir Ian MacDonald, a British regimental commander back then. But I doubt Roosa’s young daughter had any hand in breaking that British siege.”
“He must be referring to the fort’s water supply! Named after his daughter.”
“And surely your ancestor would have known of this secret nickname for the well.”
Tucker thanked Manfred and hung up. He relayed the information to the others.
Christopher smiled. “It seems our haystack has gotten considerably smaller.”
29
March 19, 3:22 P.M.
Springbok, South Africa
Eleven miles outside of Springbok, Christopher turned onto a narrow dirt driveway that ended at a tin-roofed building. The billboard atop it read HELMAN’S GARAGE. Christopher parked in the shadow of the building, then got out and disappeared through an open bay door.
When he returned, he opened the passenger side for Anya and waved Tucker and Kane out. “Helman says we can park our vehicle here. If we are not back in three weeks, he says he will alert the police.”
“Three weeks?” Anya asked, then noted Christopher’s smile. “Very funny.”
Christopher pulled a trio of daypacks from the SUV’s trunk and passed them out. He also unzipped a rifle case and handed Tucker a heavy, double-barreled gun, along with a cartridge belt holding a dozen bullets, each one larger than his thumb.
“Nitro Express cartridges,” Christopher said. “Four-seventy caliber. Are you familiar with weapons, Mr. Wayne?”
Tucker broke the rifle’s breech, checked the action, and gave it a quick inspection. He pulled a pair of Nitros from the belt, popped them into the breech, and snapped the weapon closed.