The African Trilogy, Book 3 (Lust, Money & Murder #9)

By Mike Wells

Book 9 completes the third action-packed trilogy in the Lust, Money & Murder Series (Books 7, 8, & 9).

While in Sudan, Elaine Brogan receives new information about Stanley Ketchum, and it's a game changer. She realizes that the plan that she and Giorgio Cattoretti agreed upon to have Raj Malik arrested will no longer work without significant modification. Will The Cat go along with it? And can she avoid the deadly Janjaweed warriors and escape from Sudan alive?

Note: This book was previously titled: Lust, Money & Murder, Book 9 - Escape from Sudan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Wells
• Release date: Oct 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310882548

Mike Wells

Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Marrah Mountains, Western Sudan

"You work for the Secret Service?" Stanley Ketchum said, his voice echoing off the cave walls.

That’s right, Elaine said.

He was lying in the soft carpet of bat guano that covered the cave floor. Elaine was kneeling next to him, trying to stop the bleeding from the hole in his thigh. She had used his pocket knife to cut away his trouser leg so that she could press down hard on the wound. She regretted having shot him, but at the moment she had pulled the trigger, she had felt that she had no choice. She was sure that Stan had intended to kill her, and he probably would have—he believed she was working with Raj Malik, trying to find the secret diamond mine so Raj could cut him out of the picture.

I knew something didn’t add up, Stan grunted, staring at her. Are you investigating Raj Malik, or what?

Something like that. Elaine lifted her bloody hand and leaned closer to his leg, inspecting the wound with a flashlight. I think it’s stopped bleeding. Can you walk?

I doubt it, he muttered.

Elaine slipped her hand under his shoulder and, with some effort, Stan climbed to his feet.

The moment he put weight on his injured leg, he let out a yelp. He tried to take a clumsy, hopping step forward, then staggered sideways, clinging to the rock ledge where their knapsacks lay. He finally collapsed onto the bat guano on the cave floor.

"You have to walk, Stan." It was hard for Elaine to keep the panic out of her voice. He’d told her that without his help, she would never get out of this part of Sudan alive, and she was afraid he was right. Furthermore, she needed to keep him alive and well in order for her and Cattoretti’s plan to work. She had to make sure that, within a few days, he would go back to N’Djamena and deliver the diamonds to Raj as if everything were normal, just another monthly delivery.

I’ll never make it all the way back to the clinic, Stan gasped.

You don’t need to—I have someone nearby who can pick us up.

Stan looked both surprised and suspicious. You do? Then he glanced over at the GPS tracker he’d caught her with and put two and two together. Jesus Christ...I should have known.

Elaine asked, How close can someone get to us with an SUV?

Stan hesitated, a stubborn expression on his face.

She was in control now—his injuries had incapacitated him. And she was in possession of both guns.

Look, Stan, the Secret Service has no squabble with you—we’re only after Raj Malik. If you’ll cooperate with us and do what we ask, you’re in the clear.

Who’s ‘us’?

Elaine hesitated. My colleagues and I.

Is Raj your boss?

Not directly, but it doesn’t matter. I’m taking him down.

Why?

I have my reasons. She paused. So can someone in an SUV get to us?

Stan finally answered her question, but reluctantly. A four by four can make it all the way to the bottom of the hill on the right-hand side of the cave entrance, as you look out, but there’s only one way in. It’s tricky, but a good driver can pull it off.

Picking up his Glock and satellite phone, Elaine stepped over to his backpack. She strapped his Kalashnikov around her shoulders. Stay put, she said, motioning to him with the pistol. I’m going outside to make a call.

Stan let out a pained chuckle, glancing at his wounded leg. What do you think I’m gonna do, run a marathon?

* * *

A moment later, Elaine emerged from the cave entrance and peered out across the foothills. They were only vague humps under the starlight. It was still completely dark outside, but dawn was only a couple of hours away.

She punched in Dmitry’s sat-phone number.

He answered immediately.

It’s me, Elaine whispered, relieved to hear the Russian’s voice.

Thanks god! I have been worried. GPS signal stop working and—

Yes, I know. I’m at the cave now, the signal was blocked while we were inside. She hadn’t spoken to him since she and Stan had crossed the border and arrived in Sudan. Where are you exactly? Are you alright?

"Da, everything okay. I parking four kilometers from where GPS stop working, on top of hill."

That’s perfect. She was glad that Luna had put her foot down and insisted that Dmitry come to Chad and tail her and Ketchum—if not for that, she would be in even more trouble. I need you to come pick us up as soon as possible. Ketchum is badly injured—he can barely walk. Elaine explained that there was only one way in, and that he would have to carefully pick his way through the valleys in between the foothills using the SUV. She hoped he would get here before the sun came up—movement in this area would be much more risky in daylight. She was afraid that the Janjaweed were out there somewhere, trying to find them.

What are the coordinates you last had for me? Elaine said. Can you read them off?

Dmitry did so. They were exactly the same coordinates she had memorized from the GPS tracker. They also were the same coordinates showing at the top of the sat-phone’s display, which confirmed they were correct.

Call Luna and update her on what’s happening—give her this number I’m calling you from, it’s a sat-phone. Is it showing on your screen?

"Da."

Then start driving this way as fast as you can. When you’re close, call me.

"Horosho."

I’ll try to get Ketchum down to the bottom of the hill, just west of the cave, so we can meet you. Elaine paused, gazing out across the darkened hills and valleys. You have to be extremely careful, Dmitry—there may be some armed Arab men on horseback after us. Keep your headlights turned off as much as possible—use the night vision.

I already use NV googles. As keyed up as Elaine was, she had to suppress a smile. He pronounced goggles like Googles.

Do not worry, Janyet. I will find you.

Chapter 2

At the moment Elaine cut the call to Dmitry, three Janjaweed rebels were perched atop a craggy hill not more than two miles away.

In the valley behind the last steep hill they had crossed were the charred remains of a fire which they had extinguished with urine. They had finally lost the tracks of the two Nasara for good and had stopped to kill a goat to fill their bellies. They had consumed the best parts of the animal, burning the rest so as not to attract vultures. Only the bones remained, along with a blackened, silver bell that rang no more.

The trio had been tracking the murderers of their tribal brothers since yesterday afternoon, after the three rider-less horses had showed up at their encampment. Since finding the killers’ jeep hidden at the clinic in Nertiti, the last six hours had been slow going. The two despicable Nasaras had left the clinic on foot, headed in the direction of the Marrah Mountains. The determined trio of tribesmen had followed the trail along the rocky path through the hills and eastern side of the mountains, their esteemed tracker, Khasir, studying the dirt path and goat droppings and broken twigs in the scrub. Several times they had lost the Nasaras’ trail and had to backtrack quite a long way to pick it up again, but eventually the trail had been lost for good.

Now, the three men were sitting atop their horses, their determination revived from the big meal, their senses alert, their rifles chambered and ready to fire. They had chosen the surveillance spot on the hill soon after they’d heard the single gunshot, which, according to their tracker’s finely-honed senses, had come from a handgun that was inside of a cave. As there were hundreds of caves scattered throughout this area, there was no point in trying to find the location—it would take far too long. A better option was to stay here on top of this hill. From this vantage point, they could see the hills, valleys, and mountains all around—once the sun came up, there was no way for the Nasara to escape.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Chapter 3

When Elaine crawled back inside the cave, she found Stanley Ketchum lying in exactly the same position she’d left him in, staring at the ceiling, a hopeless expression on his face.

Elaine knew how he felt. He knew that diamond smuggling operation—his baby—had been permanently exposed. It would be impossible for him to continue now.

She squatted down beside him. Stan, you have to get on your feet and let me help you down to the bottom of this hill. My man is on the way to pick us up.

I can’t, he grunted, looking down at his injured leg.

You don’t have any choice. Do you want to die up here all alone in this cave?

I’m telling you, I can’t walk. The bullet must be lodged in a nerve—the pain is unbearable.

Elaine wondered if he was exaggerating, stalling, trying to find some way out of the situation.

Stan, listen to me. Your diamond smuggling operation is over, but I’m going to find a way to keep funding the clinics.

He glanced sharply up at her face. How?

It’s not important right now. You just have to trust me.

Trust you? He laughed and then coughed a couple of times. You expect me to trust you, after you lied to me nonstop for three days about being some cheap Texas gold digger and conned me into bringing you up here?

Do you have a choice? she said, looking down at his swollen leg.

You’ll have to take it out, he grunted.

Take what out?

The bullet, he said, nodding down to his thigh. If you pull it out, I can probably walk. Otherwise, forget it.

* * *

Elaine found a pair of needle-nose pliers in Stan’s backpack.

At the mere sight of the tool in her hand, Stan gulped down some Jack Daniels, and then started coughing again. He was now lying in a supine position, with the back of his head flat down against the carpet of dried bat guano, his eyes focused on the cave ceiling, a grim, resigned expression on his face.

Elaine had no clue what she was doing, but if she wanted him to walk, there wasn’t much choice. It occurred to her that removing a slug from someone’s body might be a good thing to teach new agents at the Secret Service Training Academy. They taught you everything you needed to know about taking a bullet for the President or whoever you were assigned to protect if you were working in the Uniformed Division, but not how to take one out of person who’d been shot.

Are you ready? Elaine said.

Stan raised his head and took one last swig of the bottle.

Go for it.

Elaine leaned forward, kneeling on his leg with the weight of her body. She stretched the bloody, swollen hole open with the fingers of one hand and splashed some of the whiskey into it.

As she expected, Stan bucked around, cursing Elaine and her relatives, especially any that she might have in Texas.

She rinsed off the pliers with the whiskey—at least they were shiny and clean—and set the whiskey bottle down in the guano. Try to stay still, please.

Just get it over with, Stan gasped.

Transferring the flashlight to her mouth and putting even more of her weight on him, she leaned forward, pulled open the hole again, and slowly inserted the pliers.

Stan spewed out a string of curse words that described a few sexual acts that were anatomically impossible, some of which involved Elaine. She tried to ignore his obscene litany as she continued to push the nose of the tool deeper and deeper into the muscle. She finally felt the pronged end tap something hard. Stan opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came out.

He became very still.

She glanced up and flinched. His head was lolled to one side, his mouth open. For a terrible second she thought he was dead. But in the dim light, she could make out his chest rising up and down.

Good, she thought. She moved the pliers carefully in and out of the wound—she could feel the ends of the tool clicking against something hard.

I sure hope that’s not bone, she thought, but it felt and sounded metallic.

Using both her hands now, she gingerly pulled the handles of the pliers apart. Stan’s leg twitched underneath her and he let out a low, unconscious moan. Blood oozed out around the implement.

With a little more fiddling, Elaine sensed the business ends of the pliers were clamped around whatever it was. What else could it be but a bullet slug? she thought, and she was in such an elevated state of anxiety she almost laughed. She had little knowledge of anatomy and prayed that she wasn’t going to cripple him for life.

Holding firmly onto the offending object, sweat ran into her eyes and she had to blink a few times to clear her vision.

Here goes, she thought, and gripping the pliers ever more tightly, she began to pull, being careful to bring the instrument straight out, trying to keep the little chunk of metal from scraping the tender nerve endings along the sides.

She half-expected Stan to suddenly sit up upright, wide-eyed, and let out a blood-curdling scream.

But he only moaned again, still unconscious, one arm flailing a little.

Got it! Elaine cried, the flashlight dropping from her mouth.

She triumphantly held the squashed, bloody metal slug in the air, wishing somebody could see it.

She dropped the bullet on top of the rock ledge.

* * *

A few minutes later, Elaine helped Stan limp toward the tunnel that led out of the cave. She had wrapped the wound tightly with duct tape, the same way she had bandaged the knife wound in his forearm, and had then woken him up with a splash of water in the face. The swelling in his thigh had receded a bit—removing the bullet seemed to have helped.

There was only one backpack now—Stan’s—which was now strapped to Elaine’s shoulders. She had filled hers with non-essential items, including the broken GPS transmitter, and she had tossed it down the hole that led to the lower chamber. She left no trace behind that indicated any human beings had been in the cave, other than footprints in the guano.

The diamonds were now in a plastic bag, stuffed into the secret pocket inside Stan’s backpack where the invoice for the medical supplies had been hidden.

Elaine had to take hold of Stan’s wrists and half-drag the injured man through the tunnel to get him outside. With the AK-47 strapped to her chest, this wasn’t easy. For once she was thankful for the bat guano—the powdery excrement was slippery and helped his body slide along the passage.

When she finally got him out into fresh night air, it felt wonderful, or at least it did to her. She’d been breathing the faint stench of ammonia from the guano for so long she had become accustomed to it—almost.

She helped Stan to his feet and brushed him off, keeping a sharp eye on him at all times. She had his Glock and his knife safely zipped into her windbreaker pockets, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Stan had mentioned that when he worked for the CIA, he had done heinous things for the greater good. Even if Stan believed that she was only after Raj, he might feel justified kicking her into a ravine for the sake of funding the clinics.

The two of them began slowly descending the rocky slope, slipping and sliding now and then, with him leaning on her and grunting almost with every step.

After taking only about ten steps, Stan suddenly stopped. Wait! We have to block up the entrance.

He was right—somebody might find it.

Elaine helped him back up to the opening, and with some struggle, they managed to get the boulder pushed up against it so that it was obscured.

Are you going to tell me exactly what you’re planning to do? Stan said, as she started helping him back down the hill.

I’m taking you back to the clinic so Anneke can take care of your leg.

And then?

Then we’re going back to N’Djamena so you can give Raj his monthly shipment of diamonds. Business as usual. You can’t breathe a word to him about anything that’s happened.

Stan seemed to accept this much, or at least pretended that he would go along with it. They continued descending in silence, with him limping along and putting so much weight on her shoulder that it was hard for her to walk. Sweat was pouring down his face, which had gone a chalky pale and looked ghastly in the dim light. She decided that he indeed must have been in a lot of pain—you couldn’t fake that look.

Now dawn was upon them—the horizon to the east was glowing a faint pinkish-blue.

When they neared the bottom of the hill, Stan said, And who exactly is picking us up?

One of my colleagues.

Stan’s sat-phone started ringing from behind Elaine’s head—it was in the backpack.

That’s probably him, Elaine said.

They stopped walking and Elaine reached over her shoulder and pulled the ringing phone out. But when she looked at the number on the display, she didn’t recognize it.

Who is it? she said, turning the display towards Stan.

He wiped the sweat from his eyes and squinted at the number on the screen. Anneke.

Elaine looked at her watch—it wasn’t even five a.m. yet. Why would she be calling at this hour?

Stan shrugged. I have no idea.

Elaine unzipped her windbreaker pocket, pulled out the Glock and handed him the phone, pointing the gun at him. Answer it. And don’t tell her a thing. I’m warning you.

Glaring at her, Stan pushed the button.

Yes? he said in a guarded tone.

Elaine could faintly here Anneke’s voice, the Dutch accent. It sounded like she was saying something about Rohaan, the guard.

Stan covered the phone with his hand. Rohaan is missing. Into the phone, he said, He’s probably just drunk and wandered off.

Anneke responded with a question that Elaine couldn’t quite hear.

Everything’s fine, Stan said into the phone, looking at Elaine. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.

Be careful, she heard Anneke say ominously. "He might have run into the Janjaweed."

Chapter 4

A few minutes later Elaine and Stan met up with Dmitry.

He called Stan’s sat-phone right after Anneke did, and by flashing the lights of the SUV a few times, they quickly located him.

When Elaine approached the vehicle, she could faintly make out bullet holes, dents and deep scratches all down the side. She saw pockmarks in the bulletproof windshield, too.

What happened? she said, as she opened the back door.

Dmitry looked a little strange, almost comical—he was wearing the military-style night vision goggles, but they were flipped up on his head.

Elephants attack me, he said. And then elephant poachers shoot at me.

Out here? Elaine said, alarmed, peering over the top of the SUV and into the darkness.

No, in Chad, yesterday’s morning.

Are you alright?

He merely shrugged.

Elaine pulled off the backpack, which still contained the diamonds, and shoved it to the rear of the vehicle, beside Dmitry’s suitcase.

With the Glock still in her hand, she helped Stan climb into the back seat, which was not easy—bending his leg at the knee seemed especially painful. He sat slumped in his seat at an angle, directly behind Dmitry, and extended his leg out until it was almost straight, wincing as he did it. Elaine chose to sit beside him in the back, rather than up front with Dmitry, so she could keep an eye on him.

Dmitry was watching them both with interest—Elaine could only imagine what the two of them looked like. Their faces were smeared with dirt, her fancy designer clothes a dingy gray from fighting with Stan in the bat guano. They both stank of ammonia and sweat. She couldn’t tell if her cheek was bruised from Stan striking her with the pistol, but it was definitely swollen.

When Dmitry took all this in, and saw the AK-47 strapped to her chest, he knew the situation had changed, and that she was now in charge.

We need to go to the Nertiti clinic, she told him.

"Horosho." Dmitry put the SUV in gear.

Stan glanced at her, surprised. He’s Russian...

She felt like making a smart comeback, like No shit, Sherlock—she had been in the Jenny Johnson persona for so long it was hard to drop. Instead, she simply said, He’s a contractor, as if this explained everything.

What the hell are you doing with a Russian? Stan shook his head as if she was a fool for trusting anyone east of the old Berlin Wall.

Dmitry hesitated and glanced at her in the mirror again. You want that I keep lights off and use googles?

When Stan heard the word googles, he looked at Elaine as if to say. Where the hell did you find this guy?

She ignored this. Yes you better—we still need to keep the lights off. Be careful.

Dmitry nodded, flipping the goggles down and starting the engine. He turned the SUV around and drove slowly along, dodging clumps of thorny scrub and boulders. The valley was relatively flat. But within a couple of minutes the vehicle was slanted back at an angle, climbing a rather steep hill that was cluttered with ruts from flash flooding. Elaine couldn’t see much ahead of them—the sky was growing brighter but the surrounding foothills blocked out most of the light.

Dmitry handled the SUV expertly, picking his way in between the ruts. The vehicle kept rocking violently left and right.

Take it easy! Stan gasped. My leg!

He’s in bad shape, Elaine explained.

Sorry, Janyet. Dmitry slowed down a little, but glanced guiltily at Elaine in the mirror—he realized he shouldn’t have called her by any name, but it was too late.

Stan noticed and gave Elaine a curious glance.

It really makes no difference now, Elaine thought.

After they drove another moment, the terrain smoothed out a little. Stan said in a lowered voice, Can we talk in front of him?

Elaine nodded.

Stan looked wary, keeping his voice low. Are you going to tell me exactly how you plan on continuing to fund the clinics? What’s going to happen to the mine now?

Elaine had to admit that she enjoyed Stan speaking to her this way—he seemed to have accepted that she was law enforcement. No longer a CIA agent, he was a civilian now, and he knew it. On top of that, he was a criminal, at least technically. Of course he had no idea how tenuous her position was with the Secret Service at this point, and she planned to keep him in the dark as long as possible.

She said, The mine will be taken over by the Sudanese government.

Stan’s mouth dropped open. The Sudanese gov...are you kidding me? He raised his voice, no longer concerned about Dmitry. "They’re worse than the Janjaweed! The Sudanese government arms the goddam Janjaweed!"

Elaine didn’t respond to this. Both Cattoretti and Ketchum had given her overly-complicated explanations of the myriad political forces in Chad and in Sudan, with differing details and motivations—trying to decide which of the many groups or governments were in the right seemed impossible. She only saw raw human suffering and she wanted to help stop it as much as she could.

Stan said, Don’t you get it? The Sudanese government will grab hold of that mine and suck it completely dry and the politicians will pocket all of the money—the people here won’t see a penny!

That’s not going to happen, Stan.

And what makes you think it won’t?

Because I’m going to make sure of it.

Oh, really? And how do you think you’re going to do that?

Elaine hesitated, and decided to speak from a law enforcement position. Look, Stan, what you’ve helped accomplish with those clinics is admirable and noble, but it’s over now. You’re going to have to let go. The mine is out of your hands now.

But—

Do I have to remind you that what you’ve done is highly illegal? What if the Sudanese government found out what you’ve been doing the past five years?

She thought she saw Stan wince. They can’t touch me—they can’t prove anything.

Really? Taking a chance, Elaine said, I’m guessing you were stationed here in Sudan when you worked for the CIA. And I’ll bet you were on all kinds of lists—how shall we say, ‘a person of interest’? I really don’t think you want to chance them getting their hands on you.

Stan set his jaw and glared out of the window.

At least she had shut him up for the time being.

Chapter 5

After more than an hour of picking their way up, down, and around the rocky foothills that led back to the clinic, Dmitry brought the SUV to a stop.

They had come to a narrow, rocky, incline that was strewn with boulders. To the left were boulders and a steep, jagged incline down. To the right, not three feet from the windows, was a steep cliff wall that went straight up for at least two hundred feet.

There it is, Stan said, pointing ahead.

Through the windshield, Elaine could actually see the tents and buildings of the clinic, on top of a hill that was perhaps a mile away.

Stan was still in a lot of pain. He cursed under his breath as Dmitry slowly moved forward again.

This is hardest part, Dmitry said, barely maneuvering the jeep in between two boulders. It reminded Elaine of the time he had navigated his little Lada in between the trees in the forest near the airport in Moscow, trying to escape from the Russian mafia.

There was suddenly a loud thud—something smashed down onto the SUV’s hood.

When Elaine saw it, she screamed.

Rohaan’s severed head.

It tumbled against the window, the lifeless, pale face pressed against the glass, the eyes rolled up, only the whites showing.

"Bozhe moi!" Dmitry cried.

In the next instant, bullets began smacking into both the front and rear windows.

Get down! Stan screamed.

Elaine ducked and quickly shrugged the AK-47 off her shoulders, then cautiously raised her head, chambering a bullet.

One big man on horseback was trotting towards them, firing off rounds from a rifle.

When she looked out the back window, she saw another man on horseback doing the same. Both of them were in camouflaged robes and headscarves, only their eyes and noses showing.

Janjaweed.

Give me a gun! Stan yelled.

Elaine hesitated.

You want all of us to die? he snapped. Give me a damn gun!

She unzipped her windbreaker pocket took out the Glock, handing him the rifle—he was right, without his

Reviews for The African Trilogy, Book 3 (Lust, Money & Murder #9)

[Rubaya K Mohamed · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

All the books in the series are so so good.. but I just couldn’t stop myself from reviewing about this book.. in this book I felt at some point of time that both nick and Elaine looked stupid and they both keep getting cheated more as much as they could but then I also thought, sometimes in real life also people get cheated for being good.. good people had to go through a lot of hardship..
anyways the series are too good and it’s not only just fiction it can only come from very knowledgeable people who knows almost everything related to such places in Africa .. and also other continents ..