Years ago he’d left everyone he knew behind. Not just one time, but two. His family owned a handful of businesses in the small Montana town he’d called home, though Reed had little interest in taking them over, so with tense goodbyes he’d moved to British Columbia and found employment as a hunting guide, starting at the bottom and working his way up. For several wonderful, frigid years he’d hunted caribou, elk and other big game in the snowy woodlands, happy to be on his own and freed from the expectations of home. At least until he came to Tanzania on a whim to see how they hunted in Africa.
One trip, and he was hooked. Not normally the gambling type, Reed took every dollar he had and hopped continents, landing outside of Mwanza with plenty of experience, barely enough cash and a fire in his gut. Success at all costs, because there was no chance he’d go back to Montana a failure, tail between his legs. No, Kimble Safaris would become one of the best hunting outfits in Africa, or Reed would die trying.
These thugs didn’t stand a chance.
A deep rumbling intruded on his thoughts. Reaching for his vibrating phone, Reed checked the display and found a local number, one he didn’t recognize. “Reed Kimble.”
“Good evening, Reed. This is Captain Ereng. I hope I am not disturbing you.”
“Not at all. What can I do for you?”
“I spoke with the diamond mine staff, and they have no record of missing stones. An inventory is underway, though it will take several days.”
“Do you think those gangsters have help on the inside to cover it up?”
“It is possible,” Nixon said. “I also believe the mine does not have a good means of keeping track of their product, so it is difficult for them to know where anything is located.”
“Sounds like they weren’t much help.”
“They were not. I strongly believe the stones came from the mine. However, I do not know if there are men on the inside or if the mine security is easily defeated. For you, it does not matter.” Here the captain’s sonorous words dropped heavily through the phone. “If stealing diamonds can go unnoticed, I believe the thieves will not stop even after losing a full bag of stones. Their efforts may increase, and it will be hazardous for you.” A deep sigh. “Mwanza is a good town. It is my home. This city needs men who work hard and follow the law, men who are examples to others who are not as fortunate. You are one of these men, Reed. I do not want this town to lose you, so this is why I am telling you these things.”
“Appreciate the sentiments, and I’ll watch my back.”
“I cannot prevent you from doing your job,” Nixon said. “I would not want to. Be cautious, Reed. Danger walks the savanna.”
Reed clicked off a minute later. Dang, if he wasn’t tired. He had an early morning tomorrow, so he hit the lights and headed for bed. A niggling thought took root in his mind as he pulled the covers around him. Within ten seconds the covers flew off and Reed went back into the cabin’s main room then returned to bed a moment later. Before his head hit the pillow, Reed set the 9mm on his nightstand with an extra magazine at its side.
Chapter 6
Outside Mwanza
August 3rd
Gunshots roared from the tree line ahead. With the sun barely creeping into view, Reed Kimble dropped to a knee and held still, his ear tilted toward the noise. Paul did the same beside him while peering through his rifle’s scope. As the gunfire faded, Nixon Ereng’s final words of warning jumped into his head.
Danger walks the savanna.
The captain was spot on in that. Now all Reed had to do was make sure he was the dangerous one out here, not whoever was firing up ahead of him. How to do that? Reed only knew one way, and that was to take the fight to them.
“Come on,” Reed said, leading the way. “Stay with me, and don’t shoot to kill.”
“What if he shoots at us?” Paul asked, matching Reed step for step.
“Shoot him in the leg. Just don’t miss.”
Through the grass they raced toward the thick woods from where, moments earlier, shots had boomed. No heads bobbed near the trees, no engines roared as the shooter made his getaway. When Reed slowed near where he suspected the shots had sounded, it was as though ghosts had pulled out their guns and blasted away before vanishing into the mist.
“I do not see anyone, boss.”
Reed’s arm went out, preventing Paul from plunging onward. “Doesn’t mean they’re not here. Let’s split up. If someone’s waiting, no reason to make it easier by moving together.” Pointing to his right, he stalked off in the other direction. “You go that way, I’ll swing around this way and meet you past the trees.”
Paul disappeared into the waving grasses before Reed could blink, and Reed followed suit. The soft dirt crumbled silently underfoot as he jogged in a wide loop around the trees. Sticking to the shrinking shadows when possible, he moved to the far side without encountering resistance then halted in the foliage. Better make sure. He bent down on one knee, inspecting every twitching limb and shaking leaf before moving on.
“Anything?”
Reed nearly fell over when Paul materialized beside him.
“Damn it. Don’t do that.”
“Stay alert, boss. Could have been the bad guys.”
“I take it you didn’t see anyone,” Reed said, ignoring the dig. He was better than most in the wild, but Paul, wraith-like in his movement, was on another level entirely.
“I may have passed a trail, but maybe not. It was hard to tell. No one is around now.”
As Paul spoke, a tree limb caught Reed’s eye, a horizontal line jutting out from the trunk. It was smooth and straight, more so than any limb had a right to be. How’d it grow like that while hidden under the canopy? Branches needed sunlight, and they fought gravity in reaching to the sky. Paul fell silent as Reed slung the rifle over his back and crept forward, his 9mm up and ready.
Out of the early sunlight and into the cool shade of a towering tree, Reed paused. He couldn’t take his eyes off the horizontal branch. The end had broken, which left a bunch of leaves hanging and bouncing in the breeze. No, wait a second. Those weren’t leaves.
He caught Paul’s attention and pointed to the limb. Paul shrugged.
“It’s a spear,” Reed said. Now that he was close enough to make it out, the branch that wasn’t a branch stood stock-still as they walked. “A Maasai spear.” Reaching out, Reed brushed the feathers. “Look at how worn the shaft is.”
“Not as worn as that one.” Paul pointed, and for the first time, Reed noticed the other spear that stuck straight up, the sharp end buried in a man’s chest.
“That dead guy isn’t Maasai.” Reed touched the body while Paul kept watch. “Still warm.”
“We heard gunshots,” Paul said. “Maasai do not use guns.”
“This guy didn’t shoot anyone.” Reed held up the gun he’d pulled from the dead man’s holster. “It hasn’t been fired. Still has a full magazine.” A shiver went down Reed’s back as the hair on his neck stood up. “Someone else was shooting. This guy wasn’t alone.”
After a brief search of the area, they found a dead Maasai warrior laying thirty feet away with two holes in his chest. “Two spears means at least one native got away.”
“We will not find them,” Paul said. “Even I cannot track Maasai.”
“I’m not worried about them,” Reed said. “The gunman are more dangerous, but if they were still here,” he said, hurrying back to where Paul waited by the dead poacher, “they’d have shot at us by now. Poachers don’t like to hang around when their prey can shoot back.”
“Do you think this dead man is a poacher?” Paul asked. “He does not carry a rifle.”
“Maybe his friends took it with them.” Paul’s mouth opened, but Reed’s hand shot up and cut him off. “I know. It doesn’t seem likely he was poaching.”
“We have not heard an engine. Poachers need cars to move the dead animals.”
“Agreed. He didn’t come here to kill lions or zebra.”
; “Do you think he was a diamond smuggler?” Paul asked.
Reed’s hand went to his chin of its own accord. “We’re far from the mine. He’d be going a hell of a ways to move diamonds.”
“So, what were they doing out here?”
Reed shrugged, light dancing through his vision as it slipped between the leaves overhead. “No idea. That is a question for the police. I should call Captain Ereng.” A bird fluttered above, ruffling leaves as it landed on a branch and looked down on them, bouncing gently. “But this isn’t just a police problem. It’s ours too. If we don’t figure out who’s out here and why they’re messing with our animals and these lands, we’re not going to have any hunting grounds for our guests.”
He pulled the satellite phone from his belt, and after two hours spent with only the two bodies and Paul for company, an approaching engine broke the stillness. Captain Ereng’s vehicle rumbled to a halt near the trees, Nixon’s dark glasses reflected sunlight as he marched toward Reed and Paul.
“Why do I keep finding you with bodies?”
“I wish you didn’t,” Reed said.
Nixon stood unmoving, both hands clasped behind his back. “I’m trying to scout for animals, and your criminals keep getting in the way. We only heard shooting this time.”
“Did you move the bodies?”
“Figured we’d let you do that.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment then Nixon grunted. “Wise. Thank you for calling it in. I do not mean to be short. It has been a long few days.”
“No worries,” Reed said. “We heard shots from over there,” he pointed away from the trees. “When we got here, nobody was left other than these two dead guys.”
“You saw no tracks, heard no vehicles leaving?”
Reed shook his head. “Nothing. Two spears, one in the body, and one in a tree. The dead man with a spear sticking out of his chest had a gun which hadn’t been fired.”
“So at least one Maasai and one poacher escaped,” Nixon said.
“Correct. The Maasai warrior is over there,” Reed said. The captain nodded, motioning two of his officers over. “I’ve hunted the savanna for years, not all of them here, and in all that time, I’ve never once seen poachers mix it up with natives, and to be honest,”—he leaned in closer to the captain—“I don’t think these men were poaching.”
The man behind the dark sunglasses seemed to study Reed without emotion. “It makes sense,” Nixon finally said. “Though only one of the men could have been carrying a rifle.” Nixon squatted over the body, snapping a plastic glove on his hand before touching it. “I agree. This man did not come here to poach.”
“Why do you say that?”
“This man is known to me. He is from Mwanza, a local petty criminal.” A heavy sigh came from the chief as he stood. “He is tied to the larger diamond smuggling operation we are investigating.”
“How big of an operation are you talking about?” Reed wiped his brow, the first beads of sweat forming as hot air permeated the shade. “If there’s more going on out here than a couple of rogue smugglers, I need to know. Does this involve that Pinda guy you mentioned?”
“It is likely. For some time, there have been rumors of diamond smuggling,” Nixon said. “I strongly suspect Jakaya Pinda is involved, but I am not certain. Nor am I certain about where the diamonds go. One problem is the mine management. Mine production totals are a closely guarded secret in the industry. If a mine is thought to be unproductive, investors will not lend money to the owners. Because of this, the company does not want to share production or inventory amounts, which makes it difficult to know what is happening until I am able to get a judge to force them to share. Since this has not happened yet, the first solid evidence I found is the bag you delivered.”
“Could there be another reason why the mine won’t cooperate?” Reed suspected he knew the answer, but better to have Nixon confirm it.
“They do not trust us,” Nixon said. “We are seen as a potential leak. Also, the mine is owned by a big company, and they look down on the little town police.”
“And the last thing you want to do is ruin any goodwill you have with anybody in the Tanzanian government,” Reed said. “I suspect they’d side with a tax-paying diamond mine over the local cops.”
Nixon nodded, one fist tightening as he did.
The local mining operation was one of many enterprises owned by an international conglomerate with interests spanning the globe, so it wasn’t surprising that they didn’t want to deal with local authorities like Captain Ereng. Even so, the loss of that bag of diamonds had to be worth something to their Tanzanian arm.
“They’re so big they don’t miss those stones?” Reed asked. “Sounds to me like security has their head up their ass and doesn’t want corporate to find out.”
“This may be,” Nixon said. “I do not know. We are still attempting to speak with members of the mine security team. I can tell you that this man,”—he pointed to the body—“was one of the suspected operation’s members.”
“If he was smuggling diamonds, it makes no sense for him to come here,” Reed said. “This isn’t close to anywhere you’d move stones.”
“These men could have been meeting a contact,” Nixon said. “This is owned by the government and it is remote.” Knee-high grass undulated across the nearly flat landscape surrounding them in every direction, greens and browns dancing on the breeze. Trees dotted the landscape, some alone and some in groups, breaking up the empty ground until it touched mountains rising in the distance like shells of giant turtles. “A good place to conduct bad business.”
“So remote the Maasai come through.” The captain had a point. “Let’s see if he has any diamonds.”
Nixon summoned an officer to him. Heavy burn scars lined one side of his face as well as the hand with which he saluted over. “Search the body.”
The officer turned the gangster’s pockets inside out. During his inspection, the man’s shirt came untucked in the back, though the front remained pinned in place by the spear. The officer checked each pant leg and shoe. He pulled a white cloth from a pack strapped around their dead gangster’s waist, along with a small plastic bag. “No diamonds, sir,” he said, “Only this.”
“Drugs,” Reed said when Nixon showed him the bag. “Off-white, so maybe it’s been cut?”
“Perhaps.” Nixon opened the bag and, with caution, sniffed its contents. “Perhaps not. This does not look like cocaine or heroin.”
“So what is it?” Reed asked.
“Tell me what you smell.”
Nixon held the open bag for Reed. The captain hadn’t suffered any ill effects from giving it a whiff, so Reed might as well too. He inhaled quickly and caught a faint but distinct odor. “It smells like vanilla.”
Nixon nodded in agreement. “What kind of drug smells like that?”
“I have no idea,” Nixon said. “It will be tested in our laboratory. Along with this.” He held up the white cloth, which, once unfolded, revealed two concentric holes cut in the middle. “If we learn anything relevant, I will tell you. There is no reason for you to face more danger because you do not have the facts.”
The captain whistled to the other officers and waved a finger in the air. “Pack it away, men. The bodies must be examined.” As the officers hustled to comply, Nixon dropped the mysterious powder and cloth into a paper bag. “The savanna is not as safe as it used to be. Stay away from this area if you can.”
“I appreciate the concern. Hard to stay away when I make my living out here. If I run and hide, these crooks will take over the whole damn place.”
The captain smiled at this and extended his hand. “In that case, I wish you luck. Be careful. I do not want to put you in one of those.” He nodded in the direction of his officers who were loading the body bags. A zipper whined as it shut, closing off the last ray of sunlight that would ever fall on the unlucky gangster’s face.
Chapter 7
WP Safari Company
&nbs
p; Outside of Mwanza, Tanzania
August 3rd
Wallace Palmer stood outside the front door of his home with arms crossed and eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He watched the main road into his safari facilities, which included four guest buildings and a mess hall, all set away from where he stood. Dozens of birds flew past above him, and Wallace glanced up, envying their freedom. How nice it would be. Then his eyes fell back to the road, from which he expected visitors to appear.
Effie stood on the porch beside him, hands clasped in front of her as they waited in silence. Thunderclouds gathered across the plains, the threat of rain loomed large over the landscape. They could use the rain, given how dry it had been lately. Wallace’s dog sat by his master’s leg, his nose turned skyward as he sniffed for whatever it was dogs could smell that he couldn’t.
The storm might blow over and not bring a drop of rain. It was hard to tell out here. The weather as fickle as the animals, never allowing him to pin them down entirely. Perhaps tonight would be calm with soft winds and cool air. Or it could all go to hell in a maelstrom of water and lightning. Either way, the weather wasn’t his greatest concern. He had a bigger problem. Minutes later, that problem made itself known with the sound of an approaching engine.
“We should go inside,” Effie said. She walked into the house without waiting for a response.
As usual, Wallace followed, the knot in his stomach tightening. “Come on, Zeke,” he said, though the dog needed no encouragement. Wallace moved through the door, invisible hands pulling the knot more snugly around his gut with each passing moment. He was standing beside an open window when he heard the car slow and stop outside, followed by a door opening and closing before footsteps sounded on the front porch and a shadow hovered in the doorway.
The screen door squeaked as it opened. Standing before Wallace was a man, who by all accounts should not cause the feelings now churning in Wallace’s gut. His wife’s brother did not stop by often, but when he did, Wallace helped with what was needed, at times even liked him, but deep down the apprehension about what they did never dissipated.
The Turn Series Box Set Page 4