The Consequential Element

By Dee Ann Waite

When Danni Montgomery - a survivor of a rebel raid on an African village fifteen years earlier – had been rescued from the grips of Obasanji, the rebel leader of that army, she'd thought she'd lost her soul forever. Now, a new fear lurks within the confines of her world. Danni receives a cryptic letter written by her uncle Roland, her only living relative, who has mysteriously disappeared somewhere deep within the African Congo.

The letter speaks of a fantastic discovery, one that will change the fate of the troubled United States from China's imminent attack. A rare earth element known as Promethium, the missing element needed for the completion of Viper 6, an unprecedented stealth missile that will shift the position of world leader back to the United States.

Now, Danni is leading a team of mercenaries of her own, led by the charming and all-too-perfect Kayden Moreau, on a journey into the harsh, remote corners of the Congo. A journey where Danni makes a phenomenal discovery of her own. While searching for her uncle and his remarkable find, Danni comes face to face with the demon of her nightmares, and learns he is the only one who can help find her uncle and save her country. Consumed by hatred, Danni must make a choice: in order to secure the safety of her uncle and the fate of the United States, she must decide if she will forgive the man who murdered her mother and changed her life forever, or will her desire for revenge prove stronger than she can bear...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dee Ann Waite
• Release date: Feb 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310591518

Dee Ann Waite

Dee Ann Waite writes action adventure thrillers. Her first novel, The Consequential Element is a military action thriller (with a touch of romance) that takes the reader on a full throttle international ride from the streets of Boston to the jungles of the Congo.Her second novel, Mists of Bayou Rhyne is a Young Adult thriller set in the Mississippi Bayou. This is the first installment in the Rhyne Heart Thriller Series, and is slotted for release in December 2014.Her intense interest in psychology, along with her studies in that area, have led her to her third novel, a psychological thriller titled Where Demons Hide, scheduled for release late 2015. This is the first installment of a three book series.A former private investigator, and the sister of four retired brothers from both the military and department of corrections, as well as former FBI ties, the military and law have been a strong influence and have played out heavily in her writing.Along with being an author, she has dedicated her blog to helping new authors achieve their dream of completing a novel and offers coaching assistance online, as well as with small groups throughout her community.Dee Ann currently resides along the central east coast of Florida. When she's not writing, she enjoys spending time with her daughter and grandchildren, horseback riding, and nature. She owns a pet photography business and branches out her love for photography by visiting the Everglades and swamps in search of alligators and exotic birds. When at home, she cherishes a chilled glass of wine while sitting in her garden with her dog Dodger.You can learn more about Dee Ann on her website at www.deeannwaite.com. Comments are always welcome!

Book preview

PROLOGUE

She’d been rescued. That’s what they said. Only she didn’t feel rescued, she felt captured.

Danielle sat in the chopper and watched as organized chaos developed around her. Men in camouflage yelled out orders while other soldiers ran around, seemingly confused. She held a thick military blanket tight around her shoulders. They’d landed in the clearing of the Safe Zone in Congolese territory only minutes before. She gazed through the open sides of the chopper as Congolese troops and U.S. military men shouted to each other, their voices muffled by the rhythmic sound of the helicopter’s engine. The tall, sun-burnt grass resisted violently against the strong winds blowing down upon it from the fast turning blades.

Keep this chopper running. Be ready to move out on my orders, said a tall, middle-aged soldier with up and down stripes on his sleeve.

Danielle stared past the commotion into the deep jungle that surrounded the clearing. The new sun broke through the gray sky, its bright rays cast down through the clouds. She imagined them shining directly over what was once her village.

You’ll be all right, Miss, a soldier standing on the ground said. He reached for her hand and helped her down from the chopper, then waved to a man in camouflage with red crosses emblazoned on white bands around his arms. The medic ran to them and ducked as he approached.

Miss, he yelled. Are you hurt? Can you walk?

Danielle couldn’t speak.

The medic took her arm and led her toward a large, white, open-sided tent. Miss, I’m going to examine you to be sure you’re all right. Do you understand? He helped her onto a table and began his intrusion.

Again, Danielle was silent. His words left his mouth in English, but her mind distorted them. Nothing made sense to her. Why did these men do this? As the medic placed the stethoscope on her heart she thought, you won’t find anything there.

Men in green uniforms and others in solid black moved about in rapid sequence, carrying out orders from a man with the name Bull taped to the front of his helmet. He pointed toward Danielle and two soldiers turned and headed in her direction. They passed by her tent and got into a black military jeep. She overheard them as they pulled away.

Poor kid looks pretty messed up.

Yeah, three years as a prisoner with those assholes’ll do that to ya.

Three years? Has it really only been three years? I’m only seventeen?

These were the men who attacked her village. They’d called out her name and killed her fellow soldiers - these were the men who claimed to save her.

She looked up at the medic’s face – he couldn’t be much older than she, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He nodded and smiled. She didn’t smile back.

Close to her right, inside another large tent stuffed with radios and communication equipment, Zulu sat watching her, a green blanket draped around his shoulders. Another medic held a stethoscope to his chest.

A jeep sped from around the corner with two men in front and one in the back. The passenger was dressed as a civilian. She eyed him carefully while her thoughts confused her. He was familiar, yet not. A part of her wanted to run to him, a part of her wanted to run from him.

She looked back at Zulu who’d limped his way through the chaos and stood before her, but did not speak. She moved off the table and locked her eyes to his, helpless to stop them from filling with tears. Her comrade - her friend - why did he betray her?

Someone grasped her shoulders from behind and spun her around.

Danni, oh, my God! the man said, and tugged her close in a bear hug before releasing her at arm’s length.

Danielle looked up and examined his face. Her mind reeled with confusion. Why did she feel for this man? What did she feel for him?

Danni, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I tried to get you out of there from the very first day.

He stared into her eyes and she could almost hear his thoughts. His thumb traced the long scar from her jaw down her neck. His once neatly trimmed beard was now bushy and white, his salt and pepper hair had thinned and receded back on his forehead, but his eyes – the dark, handsome eyes that had once laughed and danced – remained. He was…familiar; he was…safe.

Uncle Roland, she whispered.

A smile curved his mouth, but tears filled his eyes. Yes, yes, my dear, he said, and again pulled her to his chest.

Mr. Dupre, thank you for rescuing me, said Zulu, his native accent thick, his words precise.

No, son, it is I, who thank you, Roland said. You are a very brave young man. My friend Bull told me if it wasn’t for you, they may have never found Danni. He told me how you risked your life when you dragged her from that hut. You saved my niece’s life, and for that I will always be grateful. Your mother would be proud.

My mother? Zulu asked.

Yes, son, I’m sorry. She was a good woman and a good friend. My sister, Danni’s mother, loved her very much.

They’re dead, Danielle said without emotion.

Both men looked at her.

You’re dead, she said to Roland. You are a ghost. He told me you were dead.

No, I’m not dead. He lied to you, Roland said. Danni, my dear, you’re going to be all right now. I promise you. He pulled her close and hugged her. She stood rigid in his arms, numb with confusion. Her head rested on his chest, and she noticed her pale hand against his blue shirt. She was touching him, the man she’d dreamed of saving her all those many nights long ago, the man Obasanji said was dead; but now he seemed alien to her. These were not her people – he was not her people - not anymore.

Her people were back in the rebel camp in the mountain forest. Her captor, her guardian was Obasanji; she belonged to him. Images raced through her mind. Did he live? She’d seen his angry eyes when these men ran her from the camp. He’d pointed his AK at them - at her - and fired, yelling wildly. And then she was in the deep, dark jungle, forced to run with the American soldiers to a waiting chopper. But did he live?

Bull came up beside them. Dupre, you need to be ready to pull out in ten minutes.

Roland nodded. As Bull turned, Roland placed a hand on his shoulder. Thank you.

Bull smiled at Danielle. Well worth it my friend. Well worth it.

How can I ever—

Bull held up his hand. Not another word. You saved my ass once. It took all these years, but now we’re even. He smiled, patted Roland on the shoulder and ran off toward the chopper.

Zulu placed a hand on Danielle’s shoulder and looked at Roland.

Five minutes, Roland said.

Danielle watched her uncle jog off toward the tents, and then faced Zulu.

Danni, listen to me. You are safe now. You are with your uncle. He loves you and will care for you. You will be all right.

Why, Zulu? Why did you betray us? Why did you turn your back on your brothers and sisters, your comrades? She wasn’t angry, her love for him went too deep for anger, but she needed to understand.

I did not betray you. You do not belong here. You are not a rebel soldier any more than I am. That is not who we are. They are not our brothers and sisters. We are not murderers, Danni. We were prisoners, and we did what we had to so we could survive.

Danielle watched the dark clouds roll over his eyes. She knew his pain, she’d lived it. But her mind would not allow her to betray her comrades, even with words. You’re wrong.

No, I am not, he said.

He’ll kill us.

No, he cannot harm you any longer. You will be safe now. His eyes cleared and he smiled down at her.

And you? she asked.

I will be fine. I am going to return to my people in Botswana. I will be okay.

Our mothers’ spirits are here, I can’t leave her.

No, Bano, they are not here. Their spirits live in us, here, he said, and pressed his palm to her chest. They will forever be with us. They go where we go now. You must leave this place. Leave and never come back. If you do, you will die.

And you? How do I leave you? I would have died without you with me these past three years. You’re all I have. Danielle grabbed his arm and moved in close to him. Come with me, Zulu. Please, I know they’ll let you.

I cannot. I must return to my village. My people will be happy with my return. I’m sorry, Bano. Please know that my heart goes with you.

Danielle stepped back. Bano. You call me Bano, your princess, but you don’t care. You will let me leave.

Zulu gazed past her and nodded. Danni, we cannot speak any longer. They are ready for you. You must promise me you will never return.

No.

Promise me, he said.

I hate you!

Yes, now promise me.

Danielle glanced over her shoulder at the helicopter and the men waiting to take her away. She squared her shoulders and took a step closer to him, staring up into his dark eyes. The eyes she had learned to read, to love, that had given her comfort for three years. Now they said good-bye. Tears fell and her voice cracked, but her words filled with anger. I promise you, I will never return.

She peered back to see her uncle approaching.

We need to go, Roland said.

Danielle stared at Zulu a moment longer silently praying he would change his mind.

Danielle, we have to go, Roland repeated.

She turned and ran to the helicopter, away from her uncle, and away from Zulu. A soldier pulled her inside and her uncle climbed in behind her.

Roland took her hand in his and stared at her, but her eyes were fixed out the open door, locked on Zulu.

Roland leaned toward her and said, I’m sorry, Danni. Please try to understand. Perhaps one day—

Her uncle’s voice trailed off as the chopper’s blades spun into motion. She could not pull her eyes from Zulu. The chopper slowly lifted and she watched as the last piece of her soul ripped away - until nothing remained of Danielle Montgomery.

CHAPTER 1

Fifteen Years Later - U.S. Embassy - Botswana, Africa

What do you mean you have to turn me in? Do you know what you’re saying? Roland Dupre sat in the over-stuffed, brown leather chair across from Simpson’s desk, his fists clenched.

Charles Simpson stood staring out the window into the gardens of the U.S. Embassy. The sweet, nutty scent of his Cuban cigar wafted through the air, enticing Roland’s taste buds. This isn’t Botswana we’re talking about, Simpson said, it’s the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and you crossed the line when you went digging there. The DRC wants what they believe to be rightfully theirs, for the benefit of their country.

Roland sneered. Come on, Charlie. We’ve been friends far too long and seen far too many years of political bullshit for you to think I’d believe that crap. Do you deny the rebels have been working with the Chinese on digs like mine, ever since they discovered the element Yttrium a few months back? He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees, then ran his fingers through his thick, whitish-gray hair. "My discovery won’t even make it into the hands of the government of the DRC. The rebels will confiscate it and use it to fund their army, grow their forces. Nothing good will come of that, and you know it.

"Our government, on the other hand, Roland drew in a long breath and exhaled. We need this, Charlie. Roland stood with a red notebook clenched in his hand and waved it at Simpson. This is Promethium. Do you know what that means? Do you know how rare this is? I need your help."

Simpson continued to stare outside.

The clock over the sofa began to chime. Roland waited for the final eleventh chord to fade. I said I need your help.

Simpson turned, his hands clasped behind his back. His dark suit and gray hair made the deep, etched lines in his pale skin stand out, making his worn face appear older than Roland remembered from just four months earlier. He reached for the phone.

What are you doing? Roland asked.

I’m sorry.

Roland peered at Simpson. No, don’t give me that shit. You owe me, you son-of-a-bitch. Do you know what will happen to the United States if China gets their hands on this? We’re talking about a new discovery, a possible new element of the periodic table. I need you to help me secure that cave. He took two strides closer to Simpson. Is this about money? Is that it? What’d they promise you? Whatever it is, it’s not worth it. Your country is at stake. Your fellow Americans’ lives are at stake. The world as we know it could change forever.

Simpson shifted and his cheek twitched. There is another matter of concern. His eyes met Roland’s. What have you done with the girl?

Time stopped for the briefest of moments. Is that what this is? You want the girl? Are you working with them now, Charlie? Roland breathed. Anger crept under his skin. You have a responsibility here, and you damn well better own up to it.

Simpson turned, his gray eyes pinched to narrow slits. Don’t talk to me about responsibility. I fulfill my responsibilities to my country each and every day. Look around you; this is the goddamned U.S. Embassy - Gaborone post. And I’ve been stuck in this God forsaken country for nine years. It seems the good ‘ole U.S. of A. doesn’t want me back, so fuck them. Responsibility? I’ve paid my debt to our country. Now they owe me. Simpson stood before Roland, his body shaking, spit sliding from his lower lip, his eyes red with rage.

Roland knew he’d gone as far as he could. Simpson had made up his mind and he’d chosen a side, as wrong as it was. Fine, have it your way. Roland returned the notebook to the pocket beneath his field jacket. The girl’s safe. That’s all you need to know. As for the cave…

Simpson eyed the notebook and softened. Just give it to me. They can decipher it themselves. Give it to me and you can walk away. No one has to get hurt.

Weren’t you listening to me? An entire country will get hurt, and that’s just for starters. I’m not giving you shit.

Then you leave me no choice, Simpson said, lifting the receiver from the desktop phone.

Roland took the receiver from him and returned it to its carriage. You owe me. Give me a head start, at least.

What will you do with a head start? You have no place to go where they won’t find you. You’re an old man now, my friend. You’re no match for these men. It would be better for you to be here, let them come to you. The Embassy will protect you; out there you’re as good as dead.

Yeah, maybe, but at least I can try to do what’s right.

I’m afraid I can’t buy you time. I’m sorry.

Roland pulled a small caliber pistol from his jacket pocket. I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, he said backing toward the door. I don’t know what happened to you, Charles ‘ole boy. It breaks my heart to see you go to the dogs like this, after all we’ve been through together. He reached behind with his left hand and opened the door. Touch that phone or call out to your assistant, and I’ll kill you myself.

Roland squeezed out the door, slid the gun back in his pocket, and rushed down the hall and out of the building.

###

He returned to his room at the lodge. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he pulled the notebook from beneath his field jacket and thumbed through its pages. Who could help, if not Charlie?

Roland dialed the front desk and gave the New York number for Bull Reardon. Out of town on business. Leave a message, the familiar voice said. What the hell good would that do? He needed him now.

Roland hung up the phone and dropped his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. A pad of paper with Big Five Wild Game Preserve written across the top sat on the corner of the desk. He tore off a piece of paper and quickly made a rough drawing of a map, then tore it in two. Shoving a piece of the map in the middle of the notebook, he scribbled out a letter to his niece, and then jammed the notebook and letter into a large envelope. He turned it over in his hands several times, doubting his decision, but knowing he had no other he could make. With his mind set, he grabbed the backpack and left the room. He dropped the envelope off at the front desk and then stepped out onto the wooden porch. Gazing into the setting orange sun, he cursed Simpson. Two things were very clear: his discovery of the rare earth element was of definite value and the girl needed to be moved, again. He returned to his room.

###

Roland woke to loud male voices. He sat up and pulled the curtain back. Unable to make out their clothing from the distance, he threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, and rushed to gather his things. He pulled the second half of the map from the night stand and slid it in the pocket of the pants he wore the day before, and then shoved them in his cargo trunk.

Roland’s cell phone rang and he looked down at the caller I.D. - Simpson. Tell me you’ve had a change of mind, or we have nothing more to talk about.

I’m sorry. I thought you should know that the rebels have been informed of your visit here yesterday.

You son-of-a-bitch.

No, it wasn’t by me. I told you, many people want what you have. I’m afraid it was my assistant who turned you in.

Roland moved to the window and pulled the curtain back. I think I have company.

Yes, that would be my men. Listen, Roland, just go with them and everything will be fine. You have to trust me.

Roland shook with anger. Trust you? Your assistant turned me in to the rebels, you sent your own men after me, and you want my trust?

Listen to me, if you don’t come back, I won’t be able to help you. Please, stop being so pig-headed and acting like an old fool.

Roland watched the men from the window as they moved from hut to hut. Why, Charlie?

Because you’re my friend, and it matters to me what happens to you.

No, I mean why did you change sides? What could make you turn against your own country?

Simpson’s voice came through the phone weak and tired. I haven’t changed sides.

Then you should have helped me.

Come back to the Embassy. We’ll work this out.

Nothing left to work out. I no longer have the notebook. I’ve sent it some place safe from the likes of you. Simpson’s silence made Roland smile. What’s wrong, Simpson? A little curve ball in your plans?

Roland, what have you done? You must tell me where you’ve sent the book.

Roland chuckled at his victory. No need to worry, ‘ole boy. It’ll get where it needs to now.

Listen to me. Wherever you’ve sent it, to whoever you sent it to, you’ve put them in grave danger. The people I’m dealing with are well funded and have resources. They’ll find you, and they’ll track the book. Tell me now. Where have you sent it?

Roland’s gut wrenched. He disconnected the call and stared out the window at the chaos in the lodge. His thoughts raced and his heart sank at his carelessness. He’d put Danielle’s life in danger. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed her number. Voicemail. Shit! Doesn’t anyone answer their damned phones?

CHAPTER 2

Kayden parked the old Mustang along the side of the pier and let the car idle. He rolled his window down halfway, took in a deep breath of air, and enjoyed the sound of his new engine. The young mechanic had done a good job.

Cold, dark, and wet. He smiled at the scene before him - a typical horror movie sort of night. The kind where footsteps echo off the cold concrete walls and trash can lids suddenly fall over as a cat screams out. The kind of night that would make any normal citizen’s skin crawl with fear.

Kayden Moreau wasn’t a normal citizen. A former marine with the Marine Corps Special Operations Command Detachment One - MCSOCOM for short - Second Battalion, he’d learned certain skills that made him valuable to his current employer. He didn’t like the term ‘hit man’, but considered himself more like a glorified bodyguard. In truth, he’d been a mercenary working for the private sector the past three years under his old Marine Corps Major, Tom Ellison.

Ellison was known to take shit jobs from time to time, but Kayden didn’t want those deals. When Ellison told him he had an assignment and it included working for the mob, Kayden flat out refused. That is until he mentioned the little girl. Kids were Kayden’s soft spot. Hell, he would have done the job for nothing to protect the kid. The fact that the job happened to be for the same man Leo owed twenty-five K to only sweetened the deal. The job paid fifty K. Losing twenty-five K back to Giordano on Leo’s gambling debt stung a little, but what the hell. Half was better than nothing. After all, it wasn’t the kid’s fault her father was a scumbag.

He sat in his car and watched the headlights approach from the north side. Right on time. He pocketed his .45 caliber under his leather jacket and stepped out of the car.

The other car stopped about fifty yards away, its high beams leveled on him. Kayden chuckled at the attempt at intimidation. The driver got out, buttoned his suit jacket, and opened the back door. Just like the goddamned movies. Rocco Giordano, a.k.a. The Boss, tall and bald, stepped out and stood by the Mercedes S Class. Being the boss of the Boston Irish Mafia came with its entitlements. He shrugged his long, gray, mole-hair overcoat over his aging, broad shoulders, then leaned to his right and whispered to the driver, Tony. He straightened and nodded in Kayden’s direction. Tony bent in the car, pulled a briefcase from the back seat, and brought it to Kayden.

Tony tossed the briefcase on the hood of the Mustang and Kayden’s jaw tightened. Easy, asshole.

What? It ain’t like in good shape, or nothin’.

She’s a work in progress, and if you don’t respect her I’ll make you eat that briefcase.

Tony smirked and shook his head. Yeah, whatever. Twenty-five K as agreed. The finger you sent matched Williamson, Tony said in his thick South Boston accent.

No shit. The finger belonged to a bad guy who had a thing for little girls. Only the little girl he chose this time belonged to Giordano.

Ya know… there’d be another twenty-five K in there if your piece of shit friend, McNulty, didn’t have such a bad habit. Why you hang with that asshole? And why you pay his debts off, anyway?

None of your concern, Kayden said, and at times like this he half wondered the same thing himself. But he knew why. Leo and him went way back, before the days of Marine Corps boot-camp. They’d been through everything together — wars, girls, barroom fights — but the biggest reason of all was he owed Leo. He owed him a debt he knew no deed in his lifetime could ever fulfill. Kayden set his eyes on the money, but behind them flashed the nightmarish scenes of three years earlier. Daddy! He blinked back the tears and cleared his throat.

Tony shrugged without noticing. Anyways, the boss thanks you.

Kayden closed the briefcase forcefully and headed to the driver’s side of his Mustang.

What, not even a handshake, Moreau? I’m hurt, Tony said, holding his hand over his heart. He glanced back at Giordano who had returned to the comfort of the Mercedes.

Kayden flipped on his high beams. Tony held up his hand against the light, his gold chains sparkling at the neck of his white shirt.

I don’t want to get my hands dirty, Kayden said. He pulled beside Tony and stopped. Tell your boss... nah, fuck it. Don’t tell him shit. He smiled at the reflection of Tony in his rearview mirror as he drove away; his arms out by his side, his mouth hanging slightly open, looking like he hadn’t seen the ball since kickoff.

###

Kayden headed down I-95 and felt his phone vibrate beneath his coat. The ID flashed Tom Ellison, his boss.

Yeah, Moreau here.

Hey Moreau, I have another assignment for you. You up for it? asked Ellison.

Unless you’re going to tug at my heartstrings with another kid job, I could use a break. What about Tyson?

This one’s special to me. An old friend of mine. He disappeared in the Congo shortly after our last contact.

Kayden took a deep breath. Jesus, Tom, the Congo? You sending me to Africa?

Ellison chuckled. Actually, it’s not him I need you to find. The job pays fifty K. You in?

Kayden yawned into the phone, Yeah, sure. What the hell.

Where are you now?

Down at the docks on Mulberry.

Good. I’m not far from there. I’ll meet you at the warehouse on Baxter.

So what’s the job? asked Kayden.

My friend’s name is Roland Dupre. He’s an archaeologist, and it seems he may have made a significant discovery of some sort of rare earth element.

Significant?

Significant enough for him to believe his life is in danger. And significant enough for him to have disappeared. We spoke two days ago. He called about getting someone to watch over his niece. Said he mailed her something he thought might put her in danger. I’ve had Andrews on her for the past couple of days. But now I need you.

Why me? What’s wrong with Andrews?

Ellison paused. Andrews is a good man, no doubt, but I need the best on this one. And you have more experience with first-hand government shit. This could get ugly, politically speaking.

So, I have to babysit? Come on, we all know I suck at babysitting.

Ellison gave a short laugh. Yeah, that’s part of it. You need to find the girl. Then you need to bring her with you and take the papers he sent her to Washington.

Whoa, why do I have to bring her with me? Could be putting her in more danger, don’t you think?

The papers have to get to Homeland Security. Dupre says there’s only one person who can be trusted a hundred percent. Renee Dobbs.

So, what’s the problem? Kayden said.

Seems Dupre hid a code in the book that only Dobbs can decipher, and in that code is a question that only his niece can answer.

So, I’ll get her to give me the answer.

Not that easy. She doesn’t know the question. He did it that way for security.

So I have to sneak a kid into Homeland Security.

No, she’s not a kid. She’s a thirty-two year old graphic designer here in Boston. I’ll have her file with me when we meet. Her name’s Danielle Montgomery.

What about your friend? Kayden asked.

I’m working on that. Last contact was made from the U.S. Embassy in Gaborone, Botswana. I’ve made a few calls and I’m waiting on responses. For now, find the girl and get the papers to their destination.

I’ll see you then, Kayden said and ended the call.

He turned off the highway and headed to Baxter unaware that, for the first time in his life, he was about to meet his match.

CHAPTER 3

Danielle left the U.S. Post Office with a large manila envelope postmarked Botswana and smiled in anticipation of what her uncle could have sent this time. She loved his little surprises: an ancient piece of cloth from a dig in Egypt, a piece of 2000 year old pottery found in a cave in Botswana, even a tooth from a lion that had wandered onto one of his sites and challenged him to a battle – and lost. That lion had helped Uncle Roland prove to the San tribesmen what Danielle already knew. He was a great warrior. He’d told her of the celebrations that night by the San people in his honor, and how he finally felt, after all these years, that he was a part of them. Danielle reached up and grasped the tooth hanging from the silver chain around her neck. A warm smile creased her lips. Not only was he a great warrior, his skills as an archaeologist made him well known and much sought after, and she was proud of him.

It had been a long, but productive day. The graphic design layout for her newest client, a women's fashion brand website, had proven to be more complicated that she’d hoped, and she’d decided to break from work around three p.m. in order to make it to the bank and run a few other errands. She’d picked up the salmon from the fish market, dropped off the new marketing materials for Warner's Boatyard, over to Macy’s to steal a scarf, and ended at the post office.

Danielle glanced at the mail on the seat beside her. She pushed the Boston Globe newspaper aside and smiled at the manila envelope. Since her uncle’s discovery of several ancient artifacts found in the village of Manayama in Botswana, his gifts had become less frequent, but more elaborate, the latest being an Egyptian urn dated somewhere around 200 B.C. Her excitement mounted. The little gifts and letters were the unpredictable pleasures inside her otherwise rigidly strict and predictable life.

She turned the key to the entrance of her Newbury Street apartment building, her suspicious nature causing her to glance around before entering. A newer model, dark Mercedes sedan with heavy tinted windows sat parked across the street. Danielle eyed it carefully. She hadn’t noticed it before; it wasn’t one of her neighbors which made it out of the ordinary, and Danielle didn’t do well with out-of-the-ordinary.

She entered the building and walked up the stairs to her third floor apartment. The scent of garlic and onions lingered in the hall in front of Mrs. Mancini's and Danielle paused to inhale the smells. The thought crossed her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d cook for a change, but the moment passed and she continued down the hall. She opened her apartment door then locked the deadbolt, sliding the two security chains above and below it for safe measure. Crossing through the living room to the window behind the couch, she carefully pulled back a corner of the curtain. The Mercedes was still there.

Perplexed, but feeling secure in the safety of her apartment, Danielle removed the scarf from her purse, placed it on the counter, and poured a glass of Pinot Grigio, then settled in the middle of the overstuffed sofa. She pulled the manila envelope onto her lap. Okay Uncle Roland, time for you to cheer me up.

When she pulled the worn, red notebook from inside, an airmail envelope fell to the floor. She picked it up and removed the letter. The familiar writing was rough and nearly illegible. She smiled at the letterhead, The Big Five Wild Game Preserve, one of their favorite places to stay in Botswana.

Hello My Dearest Danni,

I have exposed something incredible. I am in possession of not one, but two, amazing discoveries. Know this - where you find one, the other will be. One of stone, the other of life.

Others, as in the Chinese government and people in our own U.S. Embassy here in Botswana, have discovered my secrets and seek possession of them. I do not know who I can trust; perhaps no one here.

I’m afraid I must ask a favor of you. The red notebook you received with this letter contains the necessary information to locate these possessions. This information is, of course, in