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  The TURN Series

  Books 1 – 3

  The Conflict Lands

  A New Dawn

  Endangered

  Andrew Clawson

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  © 2017 - 2019 Andrew Clawson All rights reserved. No part of these books may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover design and illustration by Books Covered

  Contents

  TURN: The Conflict Lands

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  TURN: A New Dawn

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  TURN: Endangered

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A Patriot’s Betrayal

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Also by Andrew Clawson

  About the Author

  TURN: The Conflict Lands

  Epigraph

  There is beauty in every beast.

  Chapter 1

  Southeast of Mwanza, Tanzania

  August 1st

  Six men crept through lush savanna foliage, tiny water beads sparkling like kaleidoscopes as dawn’s early rays moved across the tall grasses. Hot and still air hung over the dry African landscape. Scattered shade covered the group as they moved under an acacia tree, its limbs spread above them like a broken umbrella. Beneath the tree, the lead man stopped and raised his fist.

  A solitary bird cried, its wings beating the air as it whistled across the sky. Reed Kimble didn’t like that it flew away when none of their number had made a noise. The guide behind him moved lightly, scarcely leaving a footprint. Same for his other employee in the rear, and none of the three hunters between these two guides had so much as stepped on a branch. No one among the safari group startled the bird, that much was certain. Leading the way, as always, Reed made sure no broken branches lurked to trip his safari guests, no holes hid under fallen leaves to twist unsuspecting ankles. A competent guide removed any obstacles to his guests’ success. And for what these hunters paid him, it was the least he could do.

  Gooseflesh rose on Reed’s arms when a second bird flapped away. We’re not alone.

  Reed looked back at the line of frozen people behind him, all with hunting rifles strapped across their backs. Who else would be out here? They were miles from the nearest town. Williamson Diamond Mine stood due south, though no roads to or from that massive operation came near these hunting grounds, partly why Reed picked this part of the savanna to hunt. No distractions to keep lions from discovering the region’s abundant zebra, impala, and buffalo. In all his years hunting this region, he had seen no one besides native tribesman.

  That’s what you get for not paying attention. The other reason he’d journeyed this far from his usual hunting grounds was scarcity. Lions were harder and harder to come by these days, whether due to overhunting, drought, or some other cause, he didn’t know. All he knew was hunters came with Reed Kimble to bag lions, and to deliver them, he’d come farther out than usual. Now someone else was out here, someone who shouldn’t be. Turning, Reed motioned in the universal language of hunters. Stay still. Get down. Everyone did as he ordered.

  Gunfire ripped the air. Wood shards exploded from the trees, the razor-sharp shrapnel sent everyone facedown in the dirt. Shouting came from the woods, the familiar patois of slang and Swahili prevalent among Mwanza’s criminal class.

  “Stop shooting!” A strange voice rang out from near where the bullets flew incessantly. Blood roared in Reed’s ears. The hell with this. Someone wants to shoot us? Grabbing the 9mm Smith & Wesson holstered to one hip, Reed reached above the grasses and fired a half dozen shots without looking. “Fall back,” he shouted to the others. “Toward the vehicles.” Crouching now, he fired again and was rewarded with a long series of muzzle flashes in return.

  One of his guides dropped to the grass, and Reed scrambled toward him. He found the man on his back with a hand pressed to his shoulder. “How bad?” he asked in Swahili as the second guide crawled beside them.

  “I will live,” the man said between gritted teeth. “Happy they did not hit my legs.” Getting his feet under him, he nodded to the others. “Now would you have the guests shoot back? We all have guns.”

  “We need cover,” Reed said to the safari guest nearest him. His eyes were as wide as silver dollars beneath his floppy-brimmed hat. The man’s tanned face had bleached bone white as the lead tornado roared around them. “Snap out of it.” He grabbed the man’s shoulder, shaking hard. “Shoot back. Like this.” Reed emptied his magazine toward the trees, stemming the oncoming tide of bullets for some moments.

  “Who’s shooting at us?” the guest asked, managing to unshoulder his rifle.

  “Worry about that later,” Reed said. The other two safari guests were quicker on the uptake, each of them now returning fire. Reed joined them, their barrage proving sufficient to halt the storm of incoming bullets.

  “I think I hit one,” Reed’s other guide, a man named Paul, said. “Over there, by the trees.”

  “Hold fire,” Reed said. Once the shooting stopped, he picked out the crack of branches breaking and harried curses mixed with footsteps that faded to nothing as their unknown enemy retreated. “Let them go,” he said to Paul when he started after them. “Stay here with the guests.” He nodded toward the wounded guide. “Wrap a shirt around that wound for now. We’ll bandage
it back at the vehicles.”

  Reed motioned for everyone to stay put, then slid a new magazine into his 9mm and hunched over. Leaving only his eyes above the grass, he moved toward the trees. No sounds, no cries of pain or the snick of metal slides racking. Whoever had tried to kill them was gone.

  Something clipped his foot. Reed stumbled, landing on his backside as he brought his gun up and searched for a target.

  “Holyshit.” It came out in one breath as Reed’s chest tried to burst. He’d tripped over an arm. An arm attached to a body with two massive holes in it, buried deep in the brush. As he gulped air, Reed nudged the body and got no response. This guy was dead. Once his heart settled down and no other corpses assaulted him, Reed whistled for Paul.

  “You okay, boss?” Paul asked, sidling next to him with barely a sound.

  “I’m fine,” Reed said. “Nice shooting.”

  “Why would they be out here?” Paul asked, giving voice to Reed’s thoughts. “Nobody hunts out here, this close to your hunting land. This does not make sense.”

  And I wasn’t paying attention. “Sure doesn’t,” Reed said. “The only place within miles of here is the mine, and the only way people get there is by bus.” The big buses with Williamson Mining emblazoned on the side that motored through town were a common sight. “Makes me think whoever it was isn’t from the mine. So, who were they?” Reed nodded to the corpse. “Maybe he can tell us.”

  “He is dead, boss.”

  “There are other ways to ask,” Reed said as he checked the man’s pockets one at a time. It didn’t take long to turn his suspicions upside down. “Here’s something.”

  “Is it a wallet?”

  “No. Have a look.” A small canvas bag attached to the man’s belt had been tucked into his pants. Reed untied a leather cord and upended the bag. Paul gasped.

  Lit by the rising sunlight, diamonds poured onto Reed’s palm, a fortune filling his hand.

  Chapter 2

  Kimble Safaris

  Outside of Mwanza, Tanzania

  August 1st

  Standing outside Reed Kimble’s office, a Mwanza police captain named Nixon Ereng cut the sunlight in two, his gleaming ebony head stretching well above the doorframe. If the man turned sideways, he’d damn near be invisible. Reed stood from behind his desk and, stepping over his napping best friend, offered the captain his hand.

  “Afternoon, Captain. I’m Reed Kimble,” he said as Nixon’s far-reaching fingers enveloped his own. A low growl came from behind him, and Reed pointed to the brindle mutt he’d passed on his way over. “That’s Rico. Thanks for coming out.”

  “I understand there is a body here,” the captain said.

  All business. Reed respected that. “That’s right. We wrapped him up and hid him from the sun.”

  “I hope you left everything else as you found it?”

  “As best we could. I tried not to destroy any evidence.” Reed described where the shootout had occurred and detailed everything leading up to the gunfire. “We found a blood trail after they ran, but it didn’t lead to anything.” The captain nodded. “You know the area?” Reed asked.

  Nixon looked over the room as though searching for clues. “I know the mine lands well.”

  “I’ve never hunted that close to them, but some of my men are from around here. According to them, this is the first time they’ve ever seen anyone other than the occasional Maasai tribesman.”

  “Who do not use guns.”

  “And who could sneak up on a leopard,” Reed said. “No Maasai is so clumsy as to let us know they’re there.”

  “This is true. Tell me, why do you hunt in this new land? Is it not safer to remain close to your camp?”

  “Safer, yes. Profitable, not so much,” Reed said. “There aren’t as many lions around as there used to be. It’s not good for business to send guests home empty-handed, so I had to take them out farther than usual. Word is lions occasionally roam around there, so it was worth a shot.”

  “I see.” Running his hand through a beard that was more salt than pepper, Captain Ereng studied Reed with unblinking eyes. “The man you killed is no Maasai,” Nixon finally said. “I do not believe any of the people who attacked you are either.” He turned on his heel and headed outside, ducking under the doorframe. “Now, if I may see the body?”

  Rico jumped and skittered across the wooden floorboards, nails clicking as he pushed past the men and darted outside.

  Late afternoon sunlight warmed Reed’s face as they walked across the compound. They passed a pair of plumber’s trucks parked outside the two new guest houses currently under construction. A good thing too since he’d rented them out starting next month. Past the stacked wood and pallets of drywall, he led Nixon to a storage shed. “That’s him.”

  After unrolling the tarp, Nixon gave the body a brief inspection then marched back outside, his neck muscles like cords twitching. “The medical examiner will be here shortly,” the captain said. “You mentioned other possessions found on the body when you called the station. Tell me about them.”

  “Let’s go back to my office. You need to see this yourself.” Nixon followed Reed back across the compound with Rico on their heels, ducking through the office door to accept the seat offered in front of Reed’s desk. “When I checked the body,” Reed said, kneeling before a safe in the room’s corner, “I found a sack tucked inside his waistband.” The tumbler whirred, locks clicked, and said canvas sack landed on Reed’s desk a moment later. “Look inside. It won’t bite.”

  Uncut stones tumbled free and Nixon’s eyeballs threatened to fly out. Reed gave the man credit, though, because the captain recovered within seconds. “Why did you not mention these when you called the station?” The diamonds bounced as Nixon funneled them into the satchel, cinching it closed. “Did anyone handle these other than you?”

  “Nobody, and I didn’t take any.” Reed shrugged. “To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about money. The bullets had my attention.”

  “Tell me,” Nixon said, leaning back in his chair. “Why do you think the shooters left these behind?”

  Reed leaned down and scratched Rico’s ears. “I don’t think he was shot until right at the end. They basically ambushed us, so once we started shooting back, they panicked.”

  “That makes sense,” Nixon said. The diamonds disappeared into his pocket, and he took a deep breath, studying the worn floorboards. One creaked when he leaned forward in his chair. “This situation is not as unexpected as you may believe.” Unexpected? What’s he getting at? “My department has heard rumors of smuggling involving the diamond mine, and now we know those to be true.”

  “Diamond smugglers? Couldn’t this guy just be a thief?”

  “I believe every person has new ideas which are valuable, and you are a smart man, so I would like your opinion on this. We have not received word of any missing inventory from them. I do not believe a small group of thieves could break in and steal without mine security noticing and reporting the security breach. This many diamonds suggests a different crime.”

  “You think someone’s working on the inside.”

  “I do,” Nixon said. “However, proving it is a different matter. It is hard to show where these diamonds are from.”

  Reed scratched the ever-present stubble on his chin. The captain had a point, so what else did they know? Think the process through, be logical. “Those diamonds are uncut. They could have come straight from the ground.”

  “Correct,” Nixon said. “An employee may have stored them over time. Or several employees working together. Most mine employees who dig the raw stones come from the local population, so it is possible the smugglers coordinated their efforts.” He tapped his pocket. “This many diamonds would take one person a long time to collect. It is more likely several people.”

  “So more than one person is hiding stones? These miners can’t be too sophisticated. There must be someone coordinating the effort.”

  Nixon had been staring out th
e window as Reed spoke, but now he looked back at his host. “Security is tight in the mine. For someone to move this many stones demonstrates a flaw in that security, which makes me ask what else might be happening. A criminal with the money these stones will bring is a dangerous opponent.”

  Reed hadn’t considered that. “A man like that would have no problem getting more recruits in town or at the mine,” Reed said. “Throw enough money around in there and some of those men are yours for life. I don’t know many rich miners.”

  “It is better than starving, Mr. Kimble. A mining job will keep you alive, but not much more.” Captain Ereng didn’t move as he spoke, though his gaze wandered over Reed’s shoulder. “You asked why the other shooters ran away today. This worries me, that they would leave so much wealth behind. The man you shot is young, so we can assume his companions are also. A wise gangster will not retrieve stolen items on his own. Instead, he sends expendable men he can afford to lose. Men who are not experienced and who will run from a fight.”

  “Makes sense,” Reed said. “These guys didn’t stick around long. My employees are all ex-military.”

  “Men comfortable with battle,” Nixon said. “Not like the ones shooting at you who ran away at a great loss to themselves. To leave so much wealth behind will have reprisals.” The captain turned to face him. “Tell me, Mr. Kimble, do you employ local men here?” Reed confirmed he did. “Are they trustworthy?”

  Reed leaned back. “If you think they had anything to do with the diamonds or leading me into a trap, I assure you that’s not the case. Look at what happened today. Things could have ended very differently if they didn’t stand and fight. As I said when I called this in, the shooters got one of my men too.”

  “Be wise with your trust,” Nixon said. “I have learned that lesson.”

  Sitting up in his chair, Reed leaned over the desk and pointed toward the door behind Nixon. “Each man I hire isn’t just a great guide. They’re good people too. I assure you everyone in this camp is trustworthy. If there’s a diamond smuggling operation going on around Mwanza, Kimble Safaris has nothing to do with it.”