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

Author:Mike Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cia, murder, smuggling, espionage, revenge, sudan, africa, secret agent, diamonds, darfur
Publisher: Mike Wells

Chapter 22

At the moment Elaine received the call from Luna, Giorgio Cattoretti was actually five kilometers away from Elaine, at the market in Abéché, finishing up his shopping for the day. He was rather enjoying staying in the little building he’d rented, despite the fact that it was hot and uncomfortable even at night, which made it hard to sleep. He cooked fresh meat on a makeshift outdoor grill every evening and it reminded him, with a peculiar feeling of nostalgia, of the month he’d spent living in the woods on the coast of the Cinque Terre, after Elaine had kicked him over the cliff near his villa so many years ago. It felt great to “live off the land,” so to speak.

Giorgio smiled at the bearded merchant who sold him the two chicken breasts, and dropped the plastic bag into his knapsack. Tonight he would try making Chicken Piccata, a recipe he had learned from Tony. Acquiring the proper fresh ingredients—lemon, capers, parsley, and extra-virgin olive oil—had not been easy here in Abéché, and of course, using his homemade grill and crappy frying pan would put him at a disadvantage. But Tony had taught him a few secrets, such as using a combination of butter and olive oil in the pan, and adding the lemon juice and parsley at the very last minute, to preserve their bright flavors and colors, and he wanted to try making the dish himself.

After he finished his shopping, he headed back to the beat-up dirt bike he had rented to get around. He was wearing clothes he’d bought at the market the first day he arrived—khaki shorts, sandals, and a beige T-shirt. Emblazoned on the front of his T-shirt was the outline of Africa, but with the word FLORIDA written underneath it, which made him chuckle. He wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or some kind of joke, but it didn’t matter—no one spoke a word of English here except the NGO workers who were in the area, helping with the Darfur refugee crisis. With his casual outfit and a few days of stubble, Giorgio fit right in. He felt so relaxed and comfortable he even wore his eye patch instead of his tinted glasses, with no fear of being recognized.

He had arrived in N’Djamena two days after Elaine, and after he was sure she and Ketchum had headed out for the mine, he had gone to Abéché. To get there, he had bought himself a ride on a cargo plane full of supplies bound for the refugee camps that had been chartered by a trio of Swedish humanitarian aid volunteers. The four of them got along marvelously.

Now, as he climbed on the dirt bike and tore off down the muddy road towards the building that had housed the fake black site, there was a big grin on his face. He was rather pleased with himself, with how everything was working out. Abéché was a perfect, central location from which to monitor Elaine’s and Ketchum’s activities, and to step in if anything went wrong.

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