The heat in Zimbabwe didn't judge you like the rain in Tredex did; it simply tried to hollow you out. Detective Samson sat in the back of a rusted Peugeot taxi, watching the landscape of Mashonaland West blur past in a haze of red dust and golden savannah. He had traded his heavy trench coat for a sweat-stained linen jacket, but the sapphire tattoo on his forearm—the map of a city thousands of miles away—still pulsed with a low, rhythmic heat. It was a reminder that while he had left Tredex City, the "Enigma" in his blood was a permanent passenger.
He was headed to Kadoma, a city built on the promise of gold and the broken backs of those who dug for it. The international community was in an uproar. Zimbabwe's gold exports hadn't just dipped; they had vanished. Millions of dollars in bullion were disappearing between the mines and the vaults in Harare, and more disturbingly, the miners were vanishing with them. Not just one or two men, but entire shifts—hundreds of "Makorokoza" (artisanal miners) were walking into the earth and never walking out.
"You look like a man seeking something the earth doesn't want to give back," the taxi driver said, his voice a deep rumble. His name was Tendai, a man with skin the color of polished teak and eyes that had seen too many seasons of drought.
"I'm just a tourist, Tendai," Samson replied, his voice gravelly from the dust.
Tendai laughed, a dry sound. "Tourists go to Victoria Falls to see the smoke that thunders. They do not come to the dust-pits of Kadoma with eyes that scan the bush for snipers. You are the one the Ministry whispered about. The man from the Coast."
Samson didn't confirm or deny. He looked out at the passing "Small-Scale" mines—jagged holes in the earth surrounded by makeshift pulley systems and men covered in the yellow-white mud of the slurry pits. This was the lifeblood of the region, but lately, the blood was running thin.
"The people are afraid, Chief," Tendai continued, his tone turning somber. "They say the Nyaminyami, the River God, is angry. They say the gold is turning back into spirits because we dig too deep. But me? I think the monsters have two legs and carry AK-47s."
"Where was the last disappearance?" Samson asked, abandoning his cover.
"The Invictus Mine," Tendai whispered, crossing himself. "A week ago. Fifty men went down the shaft at 6:00 AM. By noon, the elevators came up empty. No bodies, no blood. Just their lunch tins and the smell of ozone. The owner, a man named Mr. Sibanda, is losing his mind. Or perhaps he is hiding it."
The taxi pulled into the heart of Kadoma. It was a city of contrasts—luxurious SUVs owned by gold barons parked next to donkey carts hauling water. Samson stepped out in front of a colonial-style hotel, the Grand Gold Executive. The air here felt different than Tredex. In Tredex, the mystery was hidden in the shadows of the future; here, it felt as though the mystery was rising from the ancient, prehistoric bones of the land itself.
As Samson checked in, he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. He turned to see a tall, elegant woman standing by the mahogany bar. she wore a traditional wrap mixed with a modern tactical vest. She approached him with the stride of a huntress.
"Detective Samson," she said, extending a hand. "I am Inspector Chipo Moyo of the CID. I was told you were coming, though the Interpol memo was... let's say, 'vague' about your specific talents."
Samson took her hand. Her grip was like iron. "I'm here to find the gold, Inspector. And the men."
"In that order?" Chipo asked, her brow arched.
"I'm a detective. I follow the trail. Usually, the gold leads to the bodies."
"Not here," Chipo said, lowering her voice as they moved to a corner table. "In Kadoma, the gold is the only thing that stays silent. We have searched the Invictus Mine three times. We used thermal imaging, seismic sensors, everything. The tunnels are empty. It's as if the earth simply swallowed them whole. And the international observers are threatening to shut down the entire mining sector if we don't find a culprit. If the mines close, this country starves."
Samson looked down at his arm. The blue ink was swirling, a tiny sapphire vortex forming near his wrist. It was reacting to something beneath the floorboards of the hotel—something deep.
"The vanishing miners," Samson began, "did they leave anything behind? Anything unusual?"
Chipo hesitated, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag. Inside was a jagged piece of quartz. But it wasn't white or clear. It was veined with a pulsing, iridescent blue light—the exact same color as the ink in Samson's veins.
Samson felt the air leave his lungs. He wasn't in Zimbabwe by accident. The "Enigma" hadn't stayed in Tredex; it had spread like a subterranean vine, following the mineral veins of the earth across the continent.
"Where did you find this?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"In the hand of the only survivor," Chipo replied. "We found a young boy wandering the bush three days after the Invictus disappearance. He can't speak. His tongue is frozen. But he holds that stone like it's his mother's hand. He's at the local clinic, under guard."
"Take me to him," Samson said, standing up.
"It's nearly dark, Detective. The roads to the clinic aren't safe after sunset. The 'Ghost Miners'—the looters who have moved into the abandoned pits—they shoot first."
"I've dealt with ghosts before, Inspector," Samson said, the blue tattoo on his arm flaring with a sudden, warning heat. "And usually, they're the only ones who tell the truth."
As they exited the hotel, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of bruised orange and blood red. In the distance, the silhouette of the Great Dyke mountains loomed like a sleeping giant. Samson could feel it then—a hum, a low-frequency vibration coming from miles underground. It was the sound of a city being hollowed out, not by drills, but by something far more ancient.
He realized then that the missing gold wasn't being stolen by smugglers. It was being harvested. And as they drove toward the clinic, the sapphire light in his arm began to glow so brightly it shone through the fabric of his jacket.
"Detective," Chipo said, her hand on her holster as she looked at his glowing arm. "What are you?"
Samson looked at the mountains ahead. "I'm the man who's going to find out why the earth is hungry again."
Just then, a massive explosion rocked the earth. A pillar of blue light identical to the one Samson had released in the Tredex Library erupted from the direction of the Invictus Mine, stabbing into the Zimbabwean night. The hunt for the missing gold had just become a war for the soul of the soil.