Trouble in Madagascar

By Edward Bristol

On his day off, gem trader Edward Bristol enjoys the sunrise on an African beach. Until a mobile rings in the sand. Somebody must have lost their phone in the night.

Edward answers, not suspecting that the caller will ruin his day.

Soon after, he is kidnapped, escapes into the savanna, but again is hunted down and finally swept up in revolution, corruption and international deal making.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Bristol
• Release date: Sep 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311913135

Edward Bristol

Edward Bristol travels the world for rare gemstones. More: www.EdwardBristol.com

Book preview

Trouble in Madagascar

by Edward Bristol

Trouble in Madagascar

by Edward Bristol

Copyright 2013 Edward Bristol

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Chapter I

Chapter I

Toliara, West Coast of Madagascar, 2001

Waves splashed gently, green sunbirds played in the palms, and all was peaceful... until:

Cling-Cling!

I looked around.

CLING-CLING!

At this hour the beach was mostly empty. Nightlife is a serious business in Madagascar, and few tourists crawl from their rooms before noon.

CLING-CLING!

Two meters to my left, half-covered by the sand, rang a black mobile phone. I picked it up and wiped it clean. Just before I could answer, the ringing stopped.

It was a new but simple Nokia, its battery half-full, roaming on a local provider. No messages, no contacts, only a long list of unanswered no-ID calls. Some tourist must have lost it in the heat of the night, probably drunk and rolling in the sand.

I dropped the phone in my pocket and decided to go for breakfast.

It was my day off. Gem trade goes on seven days a week, but I found it healthy to cut one day for spiritual recovery, or laziness, or just because all religions say so.

For breakfast I ordered a fresh mango pancake.

Cling-Cling!

Now the sound came from my jacket. I forked a piece of pancake.

CLING-CLING!

I hoped the caller would hang up before I finished chewing.

CLING-CLING!

A mother with brawling twin toddlers frowned at me from across the empty room.

Embarrassed, I pulled the mobile from my jacket. Unknown caller ID. I pressed the green button.

Allo? Richard? Allo? A deep male voice in a French dialect.

No. Not Richard. My name is Edward. I swallowed the remaining pancake and drew breath to add 'Bristol' but was rudely interrupted.

You speak French?

Yes, but my English is better, I said. My French was okay, but on the phone I preferred English, especially since the local gibberish could hardly be called French.

I want to speak to Richard! The man sounded angry, and fat.

If this was Richard's father-in-law, I didn't want to be in his shoes. I smiled with a bit of schadenfreude and said, This is not my phone.

Yes, we know that, he growled. The Nokia seemed to vibrate in my hand. Where is Richard?

My smile died.

I already told you, I don't know! The fat fellow was getting on my nerves. Look, I'm just trying to help. I suggest—

We meet? he interrupted again.

Yes. Yes. Can you come?

Sure. Where? When?

"Well, now I am having breakfast," I said.

Where?

In the Blue Paradise.

Hotel?

Yes, in the hotel. I'll go to the lobby after breakfast. Call me later, okay?

I will be in lobby. Sixty minutes. He hung up.

Very impolite, this fat fellow! Only the language barrier, I hoped, but wondered why he was measuring time in minutes when everybody else on Madagascar seemed to measure time in hours or days.

After another coffee and one more pancake, I gave the waiter my room number and a thousand ariary.

The Blue Paradise was a big sprawl of cabanas, each standing on stilts and fenced-in to keep out animals. I had planned to go to the lobby anyway and thought a stroll would do good to settle the pancakes.

On my days off, I usually stay inside the hotel premises. As a gemstone buyer, I get ample local flavor during my work. I was looking forward to a poolside day, a book, a massage, several civilized meals with naps in-between and nobody pestering me for money; a perfect day.

When I arrived at the lobby, I found nobody—no concierge, no manager, no fat fellow waiting. Somebody ought to have been there. After all, the Blue Paradise bragged with four stars.

I went into the souvenir shop. It was equally abandoned. Where was everybody? I am no shoplifter, but how could they leave their stuff alone?

In a glass cabinet I saw local gemstone jewelry and stepped closer.

Cling-Cling!

'Ah!' I thought, searching my pockets while looking at the jewelry.

CLING-CLING!

Sensing a movement close behind, I turned around and found myself at eye-level with a golden Armani tie clip. I leaned back to look up.

The man connected to the phone in my hand was not fat, but giant. At over two meters (6"8') I estimated him to lift 300 pounds, and immediately felt dwarfed.

Mr. 300Pounds wore a dark suit and a white shirt—very out of place here in this flip-flop beer-at-noon beach resort. Two more shadows loomed to his left and right.

I would have loved to step back, but that would have taken me into the jewelry cabinet, so I stood my little ground and tried a smile.

His pox-scarred moon face glared down at me with an intense grimace of multiple toothaches.

Where is Richard? he cried, his bass oscillating in my mustache. Spittle flew over my head.

Remember, it was early morning. I was not ready for clever or for being yelled at. I must have stammered something unintelligible.

He grabbed me by the throat and, although I am not puny at 160 pounds, lifted me off the ground.

Where is Richard?

The man