“Do you have it?” Jakaya Pinda did not mince words.
“Everything you asked for,” Effie said. One arm went around her brother’s shoulder in a perfunctory embrace. “It is out back.”
Pinda turned to Wallace, jutting a clean-shaven chin toward him as he spoke. “We had trouble today. Men and natives on the savanna.”
“You ran into Maasai?” Wallace asked. “I thought you scouted the route?”
“I did. Maasai move. What happened is over.”
“You killed them?” Wallace asked, against his better judgment. Pinda’s stare provided his answer. “How many?” Pinda held up one finger. “At least the body will be gone soon,” Wallace said. “Scavengers will get it.”
“There are two bodies. Another man died today.”
“Who else?” Wallace asked, and Effie shot him a look. The more bodies that piled up around Jakaya Pinda’s activities, the more likely the police were to investigate, which could lead to himself. Not that he’d argue with Pinda.
“Not another Maasai. One of my men was killed.”
“You got the body, didn’t you?” Pinda shook his head. “Why not?
“Other men arrived,” Pinda said. “Local men, both black and white.”
An anchor wrapped itself around Wallace’s stomach and fell off a cliff. Trying and failing to keep fear from his voice, Wallace reached for a chair. “What were local men doing out there? They had to be poaching.”
“I think they were hunters. After we saw the Maasai, the hunters appeared almost at once. I could not get the body without being caught.”
As Wallace ran a hand over his head, Effie spoke up. “Your dead man, do the police know him?”
“It is likely,” Pinda said. “I do not think they know he is with me. It does not matter. His body will soon be forgotten.”
“Jakaya, you don’t understand.” Wallace leaned forward in his chair. “Your man’s body is a serious problem, but it’s not the worst. Only a few people would be hunting out there. I know them, and those are people who won’t run and hide.”
Pinda hadn’t moved from the space in front of the door, where he was outlined by the fading sun as he stood looking down on Wallace. “Do not worry,” he said. “Who hunts there is not our concern. No one knows I move through that part of the savanna, and there are no ties between the body and me. It is another death, one that will go away.”
“What about the package?” Effie asked.
“It is safe,” Pinda said, walking over to lean against the table by his sister. “I delivered on time. Our friends want the next shipment as soon as possible.”
Effie nodded. “Good news. How many are needed?”
“If you can get ten, they will take them all. As many as I bring, they will buy.”
“Wait,” Wallace said. “We can’t possibly get that many so soon. It takes time, and we still need money for more men, more supplies.”
“Yes, and you will get them. I need twice the weapons you have for today.”
Wallace shot up from his chair. “You want double? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get my hands on this with no one noticing?”
“You are a big hunting man,” Pinda said, waving a hand to encompass the large house and surrounding compound. “You have money; you know people. Call them and get what I need.”
“Automatic weapons and grenades don’t appear out of thin air,” Wallace said, his voice rising to fill the room. “They’re either smuggled in, which happens on a schedule I can’t control, or they’re stolen from the military, which makes them twice as expensive and dangerous.”
“It is not dangerous if you bribe the right man,” Pinda said. “I need the weapons to be able to move the items my buyers request. Ten more of these items, and I will have enough money to buy any weapons I need, and also men to shoot them.”
“But it takes time to acquire the products,” Wallace said. “Today you delivered one, just one, and it cost a man his life. How many lives will it cost to deliver ten more?”
“What we do is more important than my men,” Pinda said, the first trace of emotion creeping into his voice.
Effie nodded, her hand clenched in fists as she spoke. “He is right. This is what must be done, and we will help him.”
Pinda thumped his chest. “I do this for me, for Jakaya Pinda. It is my right, and no one will stop me. What I do will also make us all rich. Do not forget that.”
“I make enough money from the safari business,” Wallace said. “This is what you want to do, not need to do. Without us, it can’t happen.”
“You will not help your own wife?” Pinda asked, looking to his sister.
“He will help you,” Effie said, looking at him. He nodded, and the matter was settled. She smoothed the violently colorful dress around her waist before continuing. “But you must know that Wallace speaks the truth. It will take me time to get more of them for you to deliver. When we have them, we will contact you. Do you have the money?”
Reaching into his shirt, Pinda removed a thick envelope and handed it over. Wallace caught a brief glimpse of green American bills before Pinda headed to the door and beckoned him. “Come, Wallace. Follow me.”
A stiff breeze lifted Zeke’s fur as the dog and Wallace trailed after Pinda to a storage shed which stood across the compound, away from the residence structures. Wallace looked up to find the heavy clouds had morphed to thin wisps. There would be no rain tonight, but as the sun disappeared below the horizon, a dark blanket fell over the stars, blotting out any light.
Wallace unbolted the padlocked shed door and headed for a corner where stacked crates sat beneath a canvas tarp. “Here you go,” he said, shooing Zeke away as he pulled the tarp back. Four wooden crates with straw leaking from between the slats waited beneath. “Kalashnikovs, all new, with ten magazines for each. Two dozen grenades and ten military-grade radios. Everything you asked for.”
“You are a good man,” Pinda said, already loading one box onto a dolly. “Without you, I cannot do this, and without me, you cannot help Effie. Working together is good for us all.” He didn’t wait for a response. He twisted and steered the dolly toward the door and directly over Zeke’s tail. “Get out of the way, you stupid dog!” A heavy boot kicked Zeke’s backside. The dog whimpered before scampering outside.
“Hey, no need for that,” Wallace said.
Pinda pushed the load away, not turning around. “It is a dog. What do you care?”
Easy, Wallace. He took a deep breath, quashing the heat that bubbled in his chest. He’d just have to give Zeke an extra treat.
With his dog out of sight, Wallace helped Pinda load the weapons into his truck. Wallace was breathing hard by the time they finished securing the cargo, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he glanced to his house, where his wife waited on the front porch. She was an unmoving sentinel keeping watch over the men. Despite his misgivings, the sight of her brought a warmth to his chest, the same as it always did when he helped Effie’s vision become reality. Jakaya may be a loose cannon and liable to go off at any moment, but Wallace’s wife was a rock. Her part in this meant the world to her, so he would help.
“Pinda, did you ever find out who killed your man a few days ago, the one with the diamonds?”
“It was a safari guide.” A scowl creased Pinda’s remarkably youthful appearance which belied his murderous nature. “His name is Reed Kimble,” Pinda said.
The air on Wallace’s skin turned cold. After his conversation with Kimble, he’d guessed right. Kimble had unwittingly come between Pinda and his objective. Throw in the money involved, and the ground beneath Reed’s feet was quaking, even if he couldn’t feel it.
“My man tailed him on a scouting trip to learn his identity and kill him. But Kimble caught the boy and turned him over to the police, though I do not think he is known to be with my group.”
“Are you sending him back out again?”
Pinda spat on the ground. “That man was captured. He failed me. It
will be handled by another from now on.” Pinda tied down the last crate as he spoke. “I did not see the hunters who intruded on my mission today, so if I learn Kimble is the one who interrupted us, he will be eliminated.”
“Don’t underestimate the man,” Wallace said. “I warned him about getting involved in this business, but it only made him mad. When he sets his mind to something, nothing will stop him. Hell, one time a client of his wounded a giraffe on the savanna, hit it with a vehicle and broke its leg. If it was me, I’d shoot the poor thing. But what did Reed do? He stayed to protect the giraffe from lions and had his men bring a big-ass truck to haul it to the vet. Can you believe it? After it healed, they released it back into the wild.”
Lashing one final strap in place, Pinda wiped the sweat from his brow. “This is meant to frighten me?”
“No, it’s to show you the man doesn’t know when to quit. He’s tough as hell.”
Pinda’s teeth flashed in the darkness. “So am I. Once I learn who interfered today, they will no longer be a problem. Even if it is Reed Kimble. Now,” he said, closing the tailgate, “I must go. If you speak with Kimble, ask him about today and if he was the hunter. I will wait to hear from you.”
Pinda started the truck and drove off. His taillights receded into the distance to take one of Wallace’s problems away, though his brother-in-law had already replaced it with another. Getting the small arsenal for Pinda came with risks, even though the weapons couldn’t be traced back to him. What Pinda did with them was his business, and Wallace stomached the inevitable collateral damage, believing it worked toward a better end for more than just Pinda. As long as whoever Pinda hurt was a faceless person he’d never met, things were good. Taking on a man he knew personally was a different story. Men like Reed Kimble didn’t bow for anyone.
Only when he reached the porch and took his wife’s hand did the doubt rising in his gut settle again. For her, Wallace would do it. Right now, he could only make the best of a bad situation, and it fell to him to warn Reed in some fashion. After that, Kimble faced his choices alone.
Chapter 8
Kimble Safaris
August 3rd
Fading sunlight washed over Kimble Safaris as a dusty Land Rover pulled to a stop in the driveway. A trio of men emerged with dark stains on the backs of their tan shirts and dirt on their boots. Each carried a rifle strapped over one shoulder and trudged forward, Reed to his cabin and the two guides to another. No one spoke, though Reed looked toward the thunderclouds gathering on the horizon then pulled the window on his front door closed before he walked in to find Rico slumbering on the couch.
With his .270 Browning secured in the gun safe, a beer came out of the fridge, and half of it disappeared in one go. Reed may not have seen any lions this afternoon, and unknown people had been shooting mighty close to him this morning, but at least he had a cold drink. It was so cold it made him cough and sent a tiny cloud of dust from the stubbly beard he needed to trim. At least the dirt helped cover a few grays sneaking in with the black hairs.
Slightly refreshed and still dirty, Reed grabbed his phone and dialed Nixon Ereng’s number. The captain had promised an update on the body Reed found that morning. Even though Nixon would be pissed, Reed wanted to tell him they’d been out on the savanna with no sign of gangsters.
“Captain Ereng? Reed Kimble.”
“Good evening, Reed. Is anything wrong?”
“Not as such. Wondering if you have any updates for me.” Rico padded over, his lolling tongue leading the way.
“The man was a known gangster, though who he worked for is still unclear.”
The fur on Rico’s head was scratchy as he rubbed it, his best buddy standing watch at his side. May as well get it over with. Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead. “I can tell you at least part of the savanna is smuggler-free. We went scouting this afternoon and didn’t see anyone.”
There was no reaction for a moment. “Unwise,” Nixon finally said. “I trust you were vigilant?”
“My men grew up here. They know the savanna, and they’d have known if anyone else was out there. Everywhere we went was empty. I didn’t see a single lion or elephant.”
“That is unusual.”
“I think so too,” Reed said, scratching his chin to release another dusty microburst. “We went to a place I’ve never been, but others have seen lions there before. It’s an area where you’d expect to find them resting, so I’m surprised. Maybe we missed them or other people scared them off before we showed up. It could also be poachers have been in the area and scared the cats off, or the drought we’re having is affecting them. It’s hard to say. What I do know is we didn’t find a trace of anyone, and we were scouting not far from the diamond mine.”
“Perhaps the criminals are now hiding, and you have no need to return to the area.”
Why didn’t everyone else understand? “Nixon, I’m not letting these guys win. You and I are on the same side when it comes to that.”
“It is good to know you are with us,” Nixon said and then took a deep breath. “I will share some news.” Reed’s eyebrows rose as the beer bottle went to his lips. “My commander authorized a full investigation into the diamond matter. It’s now classified as a major case, and we can use wiretaps, surveillance teams, and other options. It is a large step toward learning who is stealing the diamonds. The enhanced phase of this investigation began today.”
The floorboards creaked when Rico rolled over on his back and his tail whipped Reed’s legs, so he obliged his buddy with a tummy rub. “How do you know who to talk with or listen to?” Reed asked.
“The Mwanza criminal community is small. We know who to look to for certain crimes. Stealing diamonds is no easy task, so I have possible suspects based on the difficulty of this crime. The criminals in Mwanza face the same problems as other people. Like us, they need money, food, and shelter. We use that to our advantage.”
“Informants, you mean.”
“Yes,” Nixon said. “So far, we have identified several phones to tap based on the informants. It is early, but we are now looking for a person named Paraat.”
Reed’s hand stopped in mid-scratch, Nixon’s voice fading to nothing. It can’t be a coincidence. “What did you say?”
“The name is Paraat, though it is certainly not real. This is a slang term. It means a man who is disciplined or one with character. It is not much, but all cases must start somewhere.”
“Is this a common nickname?”
“It could be,” Nixon said. “The problem is this may apply to anyone. None of my sources know a man or woman who is called this, so I must continue asking questions. The answer is out there. It is up to me to find it, and I must do it soon.”
“Why do you say that?” It could be a mistake or coincidence. Nixon said the word could apply to anyone. No need to prejudice his investigation at the start.
“This Paraat is in trouble. We overheard a man talk of eliminating this person for some type of failure. What he failed to do I cannot say. I believe if we do not find Paraat soon, he will be lost forever.”
“I might be able to help with that,” Reed said. “When we caught the young man earlier, the one named Godfrey, he said something interesting. The first time I asked his name, he didn’t tell me it was Godfrey. I could be wrong about this, but he said something that sounded like Paraat.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“No,” Reed admitted. “It only sounded like the name you mentioned. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
“It is possible you misheard, or perhaps you are correct. I will take it into consideration,” Nixon said.
Thanking the captain, Reed clicked off and set the phone down. He scratched Rico’s head while his mind whirred. The guy he saved from an attempted murder charge may have called himself Paraat when they’d captured him. Only once, and then he switched to Godfrey. Not many Swahili words translated well to English, so it only stuck with him because it sounded like pirat
e.
The question was, what to do about it? Nixon Ereng hadn’t sounded very interested in his suggestion, and this was hardly the only investigation he was involved in. Would he even follow up on it? And if he did, what next? Say Nixon did find this Paraat person. Even if it turned out to be Godfrey, that guaranteed nothing. The real boss could blame his men, and after they took the rap for any crimes, he would be free to continue disturbing Reed’s business, scaring off the animals and intruding on his hunting grounds.
If he really wanted this to end, it was time for Reed to take matters into his own hands. He reached for a radio sitting on the table.
“Paul, this is Reed. Come in.”
Seconds later, static buzzed from the device. “Paul here.”
“Do you remember what Godfrey called himself? It sounded like Paraat. Does that mean anything to you?”
“It is slang,” Paul said. “It means a disciplined person or a person who likes to have fun. It depends on who you talk about. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious about what the guy said. Don’t worry about it and thanks. I’m running in to town tomorrow morning, so call me if anything comes up.”
Paul signed off, and Reed hopped up from the table, striding for his office with Rico right behind him. After lying for Godfrey the other day and watching Nixon process a mound of paperwork, Reed had been given a copy of the police report. Where did it go? He’d stuffed the yellow paper in a pocket and tossed it on his desk when he had come home, which meant it should be around somewhere. Shuffling through the papers, he found a crinkled carbon copy in the middle of his to-be-read pile. Buried in the captain’s scrawled narrative, Reed’s finger landed on the prize. A phone number for the arrested man.
One ring later, a voice Reed recognized answered. “Who is this?”
“I’m looking for Godfrey,” Reed said.
“Who is asking?”
“Godfrey, this is important. It’s Reed Kimble.” Silence, not even background noises. Only a tiny blip of static suggested the line remained open. “You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
The Turn Series Box Set Page 5