The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8) by Mike Wells

Author:Mike Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cia, smuggling, revenge, africa, secret agent, blood diamonds, black site
Publisher: Mike Wells

Chapter 30

When Elaine went back downstairs to the hotel lobby to go on the “personal” safari, Stan received another mild shock when he saw how she was dressed.

She was wearing green camouflage shorts cut well above the knee, and a matching cropped vest, both by Roberto Cavally. The vest hugged her chest tightly and showed off her arms, that she had spent such a short but intense time “buffing up” in Tangier. The garment allowed just a glimpse of her midriff. On her feet, she was wearing army-style, mid-calf boots that emphasized her slender legs. The look was topped off by a Luis Vuitton baseball cap and a pair of Ray-Bans. She still generally did not need makeup at her age, but she had put on lip gloss, so sparkly, shiny and bright that it was impossible not to stare at her lips as she smiled and said, “Are you ready?”

Stan had changed into a pair of khaki pants, a green polo shirt, and loafers—he looked like one of the safari guides in National Geographic.

He held the door open for her as they exited the lobby. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smiling as she walked past him. She imagined she looked like an aging glamour magazine model trying to look tough. To soften the look, she’d put on just a dab of her special perfume.

When they reached the parking lot and Elaine saw his jeep, she stopped short.

“You expect me to get in that?” she said, her upper lip curling in revulsion. Even as Elaine Brogan, who had grown up in a poor section of Pittsburgh, it was almost too shabby. It was the kind of thing Nick would drive around in—alone. From the photos Cattoretti had taken, she already had an idea that the jeep was a junk heap, but hadn’t expected this level of disrepair. It seemed that the vehicle had once been a shade of red, and had once been a Jeep Wrangler, but so mottled with pockmarks and rust it was hard to tell. Mostly it was bare gray metal. Dented virtually everywhere, its bumpers were crooked, the back one held onto the frame with wire. Even the canvas top was ratty and torn.

“Don’t worry,” Stan quipped, “it won’t bite.” He opened the door for her, and it gave a mournful squeak.

“Looks like it’s been rode hard and put up wet,” Elaine muttered.

Stan laughed.

She hesitated, pretending to be afraid to sit down. But the crusty seats were truly appalling. “Are you sure an armadilla won’t come crawling out from somewhere?”

“The junk-heap look is for show, all cosmetic. I keep it looking like this so nobody will want to steal it. Even Chadians have their standards. But mechanically, this machine is solid as a rock.”

Elaine reluctantly slid inside and he shut the door.

“What about food?” she asked, as he went around and climbed behind the wheel. “I’m guessin’ this game reserve where we’re going ain’t exactly Disney World.”

Stan smiled. “Got it covered.” He turned around and pulled up a camouflaged tarp that was covering an ice cooler in the back seat.

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