The Turn Series Box Set

by Andrew Clawson

  “It’s Paul and Manny,” she said. “They crossed the river and are with me.”

  Reed could have kissed them both. “Aim for the rotors. We could get lucky and hit one.” It was the best option they had. As he waited for a response, the shooting ceased.

  “They’re out of ammo and I’m running low,” Sarah said.

  “Then hide.” Above him, the helicopter passenger leaned out. “I’ll draw them toward – oh shit.”

  Two green balls fell from the chopper, one toward Darius, the other landing right next to Reed. He cut off the transmission and started running, making it several steps before the grenade exploded to lift him off his feet. Hurtling through the air, he saw sky and ground flipping dizzily before he crashed into the river, landing on his back as spots danced across his vision.

  Water filled his nostrils, burning as he breathed, sucking the air from his lungs as he flailed and rolled about. His throat burned and he choked and gasped for air while grabbing for his sidearm and firing overhead. His rifle had vanished. Blinking water from his eyes, he saw the chopper hovering overhead, blades whirring as the beast whirled around, giving Reed a good look at the open passenger door. The man sitting inside pointed in Reed’s direction, turning to the pilot with his lips moving. The pilot actually pulled back, moving the chopper further away. Struggling to right himself, Reed realized why. It gave the guy a better angle to shoot.

  I’m not done yet. Water splashing, mud flying, he scrambled to his feet, slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol and fired off a round of shots. The passenger ducked back into the cockpit, out of sight. Reed held his fire, waiting. The guy had to lean back out if he wanted to shoot. Come on, you bastard. Water dripped down his face. Sunlight glittered on the river’s surface, and the passenger leaned out. Reed pulled the trigger. Once, twice, then again. Sparks erupted around the cockpit. He pulled the trigger again and his heart dropped when nothing happened. No more bullets.

  The passenger leaned out, and his Kalashnikov came up again, aiming at Reed, who didn’t stick around to see what happened. As he turned to run, he saw a bird dart through the air and whiz into the cockpit, distracting the passenger from firing. Reed scrambled up onto the bank and turned abruptly to run alongside the water.

  Wait – a bird? He looked up again as another one flew. No, not birds. Arrows. The feathered ends had tricked him. Running upriver, he spotted Sarah drawing back and releasing another arrow. This one hit the underside of the helicopter, bouncing off as the passenger ducked back inside. He leaned out again with a snarl on his lips, no longer holding the automatic rifle. Cold fear seized Reed’s chest as the man’s arm went back, a green ball clutched in one hand. The man stood, grabbing hold of the door as he took aim and pulled the pin.

  Legs churning, throat burning, Reed ran toward her, racing for the huddled rhinos and his three friends. Sarah didn’t move. Instead, she notched another arrow, pulled the string and let it fly. The arrow flew true, burying itself in the passenger’s chest. A look of surprise crossed his face as he dropped the grenade and clutched with both hands at the carbon shaft. His mouth opened, light flashed in the cockpit, and a fireball detonated overhead. One moment the helicopter hovered, and the next it mushroomed into a burning hulk. The blades whirled through flame, hunks of charred metal whined over the trees, and the smoking chopper froze in time for an instant. Reed stood in the river, transfixed.

  Then time began to move again; gravity took hold of the incinerated chopper and it plummeted into the water, heat from the burning hulk licking at Reed’s skin. The oily, acrid smoke was sharp on his tongue. He coughed, and then the gas tank caught.

  The explosion lifted Reed off his feet, sending him downriver to land with a splash as a heat wave washed over everything in its path. Blinking away tears, he looked around, dripping and half-stunned, to find himself near the opposite side of the river. Before he could roll over and stand up, Wafa Khaled stepped out of the brush holding a pistol, the barrel trained on him. Reed rolled behind a log and heard a bullet clunk into it.

  Hunkered down, he got as skinny as possible, scratching a hole for himself in the mud. More gunfire, but nothing hit near him. A man cried out, Wafa from the sound of it, and Reed peered over the log to see the old Egyptian blasting away toward Sarah. An arrow had sprouted from the ground by Wafa’s feet. Reed lifted his pistol, aimed and fired. The shot nicked Wafa’s arm, a line of red blooming on his bicep. The Egyptian turned his fire back toward Reed, most of the shots hammering into the thick log. Reed ducked, then stuck his gun back up and pulled the trigger.

  Fire exploded in his hand. Sparks flew as the gun slipped from his grasp and he pulled his hand back to find singed hair. His eyes widened in disbelief. Wafa had actually hit the pistol with a shot. He poked his head back over the log and then was forced to retreat as Wafa kept shooting, walking closer all the while. The old man was shouting in Egyptian. Reed didn’t understand a word, though he could guess at the gist.

  Better hope I can aim. Reed grabbed the only weapon he had left, a hunting knife, one he’d learned to throw damn straight in a pinch. Wafa’s steady stream of indecipherable invective gave him a good idea of where to throw. But he needed an opening. Sunlight flashed on the river, blinding him. He blinked fiercely and stood up, squinting, but was unable to see clearly to throw. Wafa now stood no more than twenty feet away, his gun coming up again to fire.

  There was a sound of water splashing behind the Egyptian and a low roar filled the air. Reed blinked, then a horn erupted through Wafa’s chest, his feet lifting up off the ground as the charging rhino bulldozed ahead, coming at Reed so fast he scarcely avoided being crushed as the creature thundered past.

  Several dozen yards downriver, the rhino stopped abruptly, whipping its mighty head back and forth like a dog with a rat to dislodge Wafa’s corpse and toss it in the river. Reed climbed up onto the riverbank and stood rooted to the spot.

  Until Sarah tackled him to the ground. “Are you hurt?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him. Leaning back long enough to let Reed grab a lungful of air, she still held him tight. Her voice went soft. “I’m so sorry. I nearly got you killed, then the rhino started charging.”

  “Not yet,” Reed said, wrapping his arms around her. “But if you hadn’t shot the guy in the chopper, I might be.”

  Paul and Manny came running over, their faces creased with worry.

  “I’m fine,” he assured them. “Check on Darius.” He pointed to where their other team member had been.

  Manny took off, leaving Paul behind. Sarah opened her mouth, only to have Paul silence her.

  “Do you hear that?”

  This time it wasn’t a helicopter. Instead, a faint buzz caught Reed’s ear. “It’s down there,” Paul said. “Wafa’s cell phone is buzzing.” He got to his feet, walked over and retrieved the vibrating phone. “It’s a text message. In English.” Reed opened the text.

  Port of Dar es Salaam, 0600. Dock 27 – Vida

  “It’s a date and location,” Reed said after reading the message aloud. “Two days from now.”

  “Makes sense,” Paul said.

  “Why?” Reed asked.

  “I heard Wafa talking about it. They are to deliver the rhino horn to the buyer very soon.”

  “Sending it out of Tanzania’s biggest port would work,” Reed said. “They could pay off an inspector to let their cargo go out unchecked.”

  “Except now they do not have any cargo to deliver. And they are all dead. That will be a problem for the buyers.”

  “Who will only go somewhere else to find horn,” Sarah said. She strode over and kicked Wafa, who didn’t complain. “It doesn’t matter how many of them we stop. Another one just pops up.”

  “Like a hydra,” Reed said. “There’s only one way to kill it.”

  Paul frowned. “A hydra?”

  “A monster from Greek mythology,” Reed said. “Cut off one head and two more grow back. The only way to kill it is to cut off the main head, if you
can figure out which one that is.” Paul nodded, but the frown didn’t leave his face. “I mean we have to figure out who’s in charge if we’re ever going to stop the poaching here.”

  “There will be no more poaching in Mwanza today,” Paul said. “That has to be good enough.”

  Reed sighed. “For today.” Sarah walked back over to Reed and rested her head on his shoulder as he looped an arm around her waist. “I’m ready to go home,” he said, suddenly weary.

  “Good idea,” Sarah said.

  They found Manny with Darius, who was uninjured, and then followed the river toward their vehicles. Reed and Sarah walked together, arm in arm. He looked at her and smiled, then turned his face to the sun, letting the warmth wash away the anger and fear. The battle wouldn’t stop. But for today, they had won.

  Epilogue

  Two Weeks Later

  Kimble Safaris

  The generator’s incessant rumble beat at Reed’s eardrums, just as it had for the past few days even through the ear protection he wore. A construction crew had been working twelve-hour days to get Kimble Safaris fully up and running again. Thank goodness labor was available in Mwanza, because Reed was determined to erase every sign of damage left behind by Juma Cheyo and his thugs. Rising again from charred wood and shattered glass, Kimble Safaris would be better than ever, a much-needed symbol of rebirth in this land.

  “Over here,” the foreman shouted at Reed, pointing toward one of the new buildings. “We are going to frame this one next.”

  Reed dropped a load of two-by-fours and wiped an arm across his forehead. It came back slick with sweat. With business closed during the rebuilding, he was helping out any place he could.

  “Bring another stack, and that should be enough.”

  Reed nodded as the foreman turned back to shooting nails. His phone vibrated as he walked back to the stacks of lumber, and he veered off toward his cabin when he saw who was calling.

  “Manny, how are you?” Reed pressed a cool bottle of water to his head, then held it to his lips and drained it in one go before settling into a chair. “Is everything okay?”

  “I received a call today. One you may like to know about.”

  Reed shot out of the chair. “What?”

  “You remember what happened when I spoke with Wafa’s contact?”

  “Of course.” Trying to figure out who Wafa had been working with, Reed had advised Manny to do an unexpected thing in hopes of flushing the contact out: tell them the truth. “You told them that Wafa died, and that with Juma also dead, you’re now the man in charge. I thought they hung up on you.”

  “They did. Now they have called back. They want to meet. The demand for ivory and rhino horn continues.”

  As if it would ever go away. “Who is they, exactly?”

  “I do not know,” Manny said. “A man called. He knew who I was and the role I played in Juma’s group. How he knew this, I have no idea, but everything he said was true. He suggested we meet to discuss us supplying the same products Juma did.”

  “You’re not in that game anymore.”

  “Which is what I told him,” Manny said. “I said the rhino and elephants are gone. I told him I do not poach any longer because there is no money in it. He still wants to talk. I suspect he believes the animals will return, and I will then be of use to him.”

  Shrewd. The lie that all Mwanza’s elephants and rhinos had left the region would hold up as long as no one came to check. If Manny controlled Juma’s gang, poaching would be suppressed for some time. Unless outside influences changed that.

  “You’re not going to take him out searching for animals, are you?”

  “No, I will not do that.”

  “Good. What did you tell him?”

  “That I would meet him. There is no harm in talking. Also, I thought you would like a chance to see who comes to this meeting.”

  “Damn right I would. When is it?” Manny told him, Reed scribbling the details on a napkin. “That’s a week out. Good. I’ll need time to get ready.”

  “Let me know what you need me to do,” Manny said.

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” Clicking off, he stood and headed to the fridge to grab a beer. News like this called for a drink, and as he popped the cap, he dialed Sarah’s number. She had returned to her work in New York, but he had promised to keep her updated. Wafa and Juma were gone, but they both knew there were bigger fish in this game. The hair rose on his arms.

  First, Juma Cheyo. Then Wafa Khaled. Who came next? Who was the head of the hydra?

  Reed took a long sip of his beer and smiled to himself. Whoever it was, they would have an unexpected problem on their hands. Reed couldn’t wait to ruin their day.

  Turn the page for a bonus excerpt from

  A Patriot’s Betrayal

  Book One in the Parker Chase series.

  Excerpt from

  A Patriot’s Betrayal

  Prologue

  Northern Virginia, 1799

  Tonight, death’s silent footsteps stalked the countryside, and the weather was perfect.

  Thick snow flew sideways through the night air, crystallized flakes careening on frigid wings. A thick blanket of snow covered the rolling hills of Virginia’s scenic countryside and touched the surging Potomac River. Jagged chunks of the frozen river floated atop the waterway, icy testaments to nature’s raw power.

  On the crest of one hill, covered in winter’s embrace, sat a stately mansion aglow with light, a beacon of warmth and humanity amid the winter storm’s chaos. Icy winds howled outside thick glass windows, frigid tentacles blowing with force enough to send lamp flames dancing. Shadows flitted across oak walls as pellets of hail began to crash. A roaring fire provided comfort and light, though no such warmth could be found among the inhabitants.

  A massive bed dominated the room. A sprawling feather mattress covered the man lying in it now, a man with thin hair white as the snow outside. Deep coughs wracked his body, each one accompanied by a sharp clicking sound as he fought for air. The room was empty save for his wife sitting beside him.

  A moment later the bedroom door swung open and the man’s personal physician stepped through. Sadness hooded the doctor’s eyes as he leaned in close, listening to his patient’s labored breathing.

  “Sir. You must drink this. The fever has yet to break.”

  A once-powerful hand reached for the proffered cup. The patient winced at the bitter taste, though he drank it all.

  “I pray this alleviates your pain, sir.”

  Two words were the only response. “’Tis well.”

  The man’s wife sat silently beside her husband, merely smiling when the physician took her hand and assured her everything would be all right, though the truth was plain for all to see.

  One hour later, George Washington was dead.

  The doctor relayed this news to a rider waiting at the front door. Clad in a thick woolen coat, the rider, a silversmith by trade, nodded once and walked back out into the brutal cold. He secreted a small book wrapped in oilcloth in his saddlebag. It had been given to him only yesterday by his oldest friend—the great man whose corpse now lay warm inside. The rider had pledged to deliver the small volume to a man in Philadelphia, several hundred miles away.

  As Paul Revere tore down the path, clumps of dirt flying from his mount’s hooves, he had no idea that the doctor who had delivered the news would soon be found floating in the Potomac River, the truth of what had transpired this evening silenced forever.

  Chapter 1

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  Present Day

  The city hummed with life at all hours of day and night. Headlights moved like ants in a farm over the serpentine roadways, mirroring trade routes laid out hundreds of years ago to carry freight on the rivers.

  Rittenhouse Square, one of Philadelphia’s most exclusive neighborhoods, was an oasis of green amid a sprawling expanse of concrete and asphalt. Couples walked hand in hand through the brisk spring air, and people tr
ailed dogs pulling at their leashes as the animals savored the sounds and smells of the outside world.

  Some of these people walked by a van parked on a side street several blocks away, bathed in a warm yellow glow cast by street lamps overhead. Two men sat inside, watching a specific building. Signs plastered on the vehicle advertised an electrical business that wasn’t listed in any phone book or tax record. The driver studied a third-floor window across the street. A lone figure had been visible moving around the apartment for over an hour. Despite the central location, this area of the city was quiet at night. The occasional pedestrians who did pass strolled by quickly, their breath visible in the cool March air.

  The driver turned to a man seated beside him. “All right. You ready to do this?”

  The passenger studied the street for potential witnesses. “You know it. Let’s roll.”

  Without another word, the two men got out and walked up to the four-story brownstone apartment that was home to, among others, Professor Joseph Chase. Professor Chase was a member of the history department at the University of Pennsylvania, a respected academic whose specialty was Colonial America. They had been told that Dr. Chase lived alone, was not married, and did not have any military or martial arts background. Whoever this poor bastard was, someone wanted him dead, and that someone was willing to spend a hundred thousand dollars to make it happen.

  A set of lock-picking tools made short work of the front door, both men keeping their heads down so the security cameras wouldn’t get a shot of their faces on their way upstairs. They stopped outside Chase’s door, where each pulled out a pistol with an attached suppressor.

  “You pop that lock and I’ll move in. Keep an eye on the hallway while I take him out. We promised them no witnesses.”

  The lock gave way with a click. One man crept inside, light touching his shoes as he headed down a hallway toward where the target had last been seen, in a room facing the street outside. A heavy rug padded his steps, and he stopped outside another room in which a man sat in front of a desk, his eyes on a computer monitor.