His eyes widening, Samson began spewing confused statements in Kolu, only to be stopped by his American interrogator.
“Don’t give me that,” he shook his head. “I’ve been in this country long enough to know that any one that’s as quiet as you speaks English. You need to tell me what you were doing talking to that man.”
“Is this guy bothering you, Samson?”
Both men turned to see a tall white man, whom Samson instantly recognized as his partner Henry Vanwyk. He stood with both arms crossed, sizing up the stranger in front of him. Henry knew the man was, thankfully, not local government by the American accent he had overheard. He decided it best to play it safe and try to leave.
“We need to leave,” Henry muttered to his friend.
“So you must be an accomplice?” the American smiled. “I knew Anseli’s murder wasn’t a one man job. A South African too, that’s interesting.”
“Who the hell are you?” Henry snarled.
“I’m asking the same question, but I don’t think either one of us want to answer that,” he responded. “I don’t think you two are government and you’re not local enough to be part of a tribal dispute, so I assume you’re after what I’m after.”
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