The Star of Senegal

By Richard Turner

When the daughter of a French industrialist is kidnapped, Kim and Connor are asked to help find a priceless family heirloom that vanished in the Caucus Mountains more than a hundred years ago. Although they fear the odds are against them, they agree to help. From Europe to Asia and beyond, Kim and Connor are in a race to find the jewel and exchange it for the kidnapped woman. Pursued by mysterious forces, it becomes apparent that so much more is happening in the shadows. The countdown is on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Turner
• Release date: Apr 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215792124

Richard Turner

Richard Turner proudly served his country for more than thirty years, all across the globe.He wanted to try something new and now spends his time writing.I am an avid reader and especially like reading all about history. Some of my favourite authors include: James Rollins, Andy McDermmott and the many novels of Clive Cussler.

Book preview

1

Southern Russia

July 20th, 1918

As the long night gave way to the early morning light on the eastern horizon, a lone motorbike sped out of the gloom onto a dirt road. Like a panther chasing its prey, the bike weaved dangerously through a column of Red Army trucks, barely missing the vehicles by inches. The rider wore a long, brown-leather jacket, and long, gauntlet-style gloves. He leaned forward to cut the wind resistance as he raced to keep ahead of his pursuer.

Less than ten seconds later, a dark-green Vauxhall 25 staff car burst out from an evergreen forest. Dirt and rocks flew skyward, as its driver fought to keep the speeding vehicle on the road. The car balanced precariously on two wheels, carrying on down the road before landing hard, jarring its occupants, and righting itself.

Bloody idiot! yelled the car’s passenger at the driver, a young soldier barely out of his teens. Pay attention to what you are doing. You could have killed the two of us!

Sorry, Comrade Colonel, replied the driver meekly. He knew better than to get a Cheka officer angry with him. As an officer in the All-Russian Commission for Combatting Counter-Revolution and Sabotage, Colonel Peter Konev had the power of life and death over anyone who crossed his path. The Commission’s reputation for brutality in the Soviet Union was unmatched.

Don’t be sorry, Golikov! snapped Konev, still gripping the dashboard with his gloved hands. Just do your job. As befitted a senior Cheka officer, Konev wore an all-black, leather outfit.

Yes, Comrade Colonel.

Konev leaned out of the window of their speeding car and glimpsed the motorbike pulling away in the distance. In an instant, his blood boiled. He smashed a hand hard on his door. Speed up. Speed up! He’s getting away!

Golikov knew his Vauxhall had no chance of catching up with the bike, but kept his lips sealed, rather than provoke Konev’s wrath. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal and spun the steering wheel around in his hands. His car moved onto the side of the road and flew past the lumbering trucks.

Vasily Petrov glanced over his shoulder, saw his pursuer’s car, and grinned. No matter how good the vehicle’s driver was, he wasn’t as good as he was. Although only nineteen years old, Vasily had been riding bikes for years. His own, an American-made Harley Davidson, had been modified by Vasily to run faster than the vehicle’s original specifications. He looked down at the road speeding past his front tire and judged he was going close to eighty kilometers an hour. Vasily could easily get his motorbike up to 100 kilometers, but that would be suicide on the rough, rock-strewn, dirt path. Knowing every second would soon count, he leaned farther over his handlebars, trying to create a wider gap between him and the Cheka.

Vasily, where are you? asked a young, slender woman, pacing next to a stolen, gray-and-green, Lebed XII biplane. She pulled a silver pocket watch from her warm, knee-length jacket, and checked the time. Anya Konev had never known her younger brother to be late, but he was cutting it fine this morning. With a curse on her lips, Anya decided rather than get herself worked up, she’d get her plane ready to fly. She climbed up into the cockpit and started the engine. The plane’s Simonson, water-cooled engine spluttered to life. Anya sat back in her seat, closed her eyes, and prayed her brother was still alive.

Yes! cheered Vasily, as he took a sharp bend and sped onto a trail heading across a wide-open meadow. He decelerated slightly to avoid the many dips and holes in the field. Vasily raised his dirt-smeared goggles, and spotted a plane in the lingering early morning mists. It could only be his sister. He smiled. They’d made it.

Not today, muttered Colonel Konev, drawing his 7.62mm German Luger pistol and loading a round in the chamber. Although the motorbike had vanished momentarily from sight in the fog, Konev could feel in his bones that it couldn’t be that far away. He had been chasing Vasily Perov for days. From Moscow to the Caucasus mountains, Konev had always been infuriatingly one step behind Petrov. There was no way in hell he was going to let him get away. His reputation and, more importantly, his oversized ego, would not allow it.

Konev looked at his driver, fire burning in his dark-blue eyes, and hollered, Speed up!

But Comrade Colonel, it’s hard to see in this fog, replied Golikov.

Konev aimed his pistol at the young driver’s head. Do it, or I’ll kill you.

Yes, Comrade, stammered Golikov, slamming his foot on the accelerator and praying they didn’t hit anything hidden in the mist.

Vasily brought his motorbike to a swerving stop on the wet grass and leaped from his bike. He sprinted over to the waiting plane and climbed up so he could see his sister.

Morning, Anya, have you been waiting long? he asked, playfully patting his sister on the shoulder.

Long enough, she replied. Do you have the merchandise?

Vasily turned and showed Anya a leather pack on his back. I sure do, and then some, sis.

Good, get in before someone tries to stop us.

Vasily removed his pack and dropped it on the gunner’s seat behind the cockpit, when the engine suddenly stuttered. He looked back at the oily, black, smoke clouds escaping from under the hood. With a loud bang, the engine seized.

Damn it, said Katerina, yanking off her leather helmet and goggles.

What’s wrong?

The bloody engine’s been giving me problems ever since I left Grozny.

Vasily heard the concern in his sister’s voice. Is there anything I can do to help?

Yes, stand by the propeller, and haul down on it with all your might when I tell you to.

Vasily jumped down and ran to the front of the plane. At the same time, Katerina clambered out of her seat and flipped open the engine’s hood. Steam wafted into the cold air. She waved her hand in the air to clear away the mist.

How bad does it look? asked Vasily.

Give me a minute, will you? responded Katerina, tersely.

Vasily should have known better, but he knew somewhere in the dissipating fog was a man hunting them. Time was not on their side.

There, there they are! Konev yelled triumphantly, pointing at a plane barely two hundred meters away.

Private Golikov saw the biplane and happily turned the wheel. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more—having the traitors shot, or seeing Colonel Konev’s back as he left for Moscow. He sat forward in his seat and slowly pressed his boot down on the accelerator. Adrenaline surged through his veins. The hunt was almost over.

No, no, no, stammered Vasily, staring wide-eyed at a green staff car bouncing up and down as it raced towards them. Hurry, sis, we’ve got company.

Give me a minute, she replied, wiping the sweat from her forehead. I’m almost done.

We don’t have a minute.

Well, find me one then!

Vasily had lost his sidearm days ago. He looked around desperate to find a weapon to fight back with, when his eyes focused on a machine gun mounted on the gunner’s seat. He dashed back and climbed into the rear seat. Vasily wasn’t familiar with the machine gun before him, but it seemed simple enough to operate. He made sure the weapon was loaded, yanked back the arming lever, flipped the weapon’s safety off, and swung it over so he faced the car.

Here goes nothing, he said, pulling back on the trigger. The sound of the weapon firing startled Vasily so much that his first burst went high over the Vauxhall. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Taking a deep breath, Vasily laid his machine gun’s sights on the car’s engine, and fired once more.

Konev heard the fire from the biplane’s machine gun, and stared in disbelief as a hail of bullets shattered the windshield and tore into poor Golikov’s body, killing him. He went to reach for the wheel, but was a fraction of a second too late. Driverless, the car veered to the left and hit a deep hole that ripped off the driver’s side front wheel, causing it to come to a sudden and unexpected halt. Konev felt himself flying forward. He hit what was left of the windshield but kept going, knocking it down. A second later, he flew over the hood and landed hard on his left shoulder, dislocating it. White-hot pain shot through his body.

Konev swore as he struggled in pain to get to his knees. He could see his quarry, but wasn’t sure he could stop them anymore. He reached behind with his right hand and used the car to steady him as he stood. Konev winced with each breath he took.

Great, he muttered. Along with his dislocated shoulder, he was positive he’d also cracked or broken several ribs. He staggered back to the passenger’s side and looked for his pistol. Konev found it on the floor and slowly picked it up, trying not to antagonize any of his injuries. He looked up at the plane and staggered toward it one foot at a time.

That should do it, announced Anya, slamming the hood closed. She slid back down into the cockpit, wiped the grime from her face, and gave her brother a thumbs up.

He saw the signal, jumped down to the ground, reached up, and pulled down on the plane’s wooden propeller blade. It went around once and suddenly stopped.

Again! yelled Katerina.

Vasily spat onto his hands, grabbed hold of the propeller, and yanked down hard.

With a leonine roar, the engine came to life. Anya energetically waved for her brother to join him right away. He sprinted back and climbed into his seat.

Hang on, said Anya over her shoulder, as she picked up her helmet and goggles and placed them on her head. She applied power to the engine, and felt the biplane creep forward. Gradually, it picked up speed as it rolled down the open field. With skill honed from hundreds of hours of flying, Anya sensed the time was right and gently pulled back on the control stick. Her plane left the ground and quickly climbed up into the air.

Konev shook his fist angrily as the biplane swung over in the sky and headed south toward the Caucasus Mountains. He impotently fired at the escaping plane.

Damn, he said, dropping his empty Luger at his feet. He looked back at his disabled staff car, wondering how he would explain today’s debacle to his superiors. Slowly, he began to grin. It wasn’t his fault that the traitors had gotten away. No, it was Private Golikov’s. If only the man had done his job and driven faster. He had failed Konev, and even worse, he had let down the people of the Soviet Union.

Konev took one last look at the plane before it disappeared from sight behind a large, gray cloud, and spat on the ground. The traitors had gotten away. If it was the last thing he would ever do, he vowed to track them down no matter where they went, and kill them. No one made a fool out of Colonel Peter Konev, no one.

2

The Democratic Republic

of the Congo – Present Day

A gray-speckled rock monitor strolled leisurely out of the jungle and walked down a gravel road alongside the banks of the Congo River. At close to six feet long, few predators could take on the giant lizard. It raised its head and instantly froze in place. The lizard smelled something odd in the air. It wasn’t sure what it was, but it didn’t like it, not one bit. It flicked its tongue and scurried off the road into the bushes.

Antoine Kashala flicked a half-smoked cigarette to the ground outside a darkened warehouse, and extinguished it with the heel of his crocodile-skin cowboy boots. He absentmindedly checked the time for the hundredth time tonight and, without thinking, reached for his cigarettes. Kashala swore. How could his life get any worse? He was out of cigarettes, and his contact was late.

"Boss, I see a car coming our way," one of Kashala’s lookouts reported.

Okay, stay sharp, he replied into his Motorola. Nervous tension quickly built inside Kashala’s guts while he waited to see if the car belonged to his contacts. He doubted it was the police, as he’d bribed the local detachment to keep clear of his warehouse tonight. But a voice in the back of his mind warned him to be careful. His usual buyer was a stickler for timing, and these new clients were close to twenty minutes late.

"Boss, the car is a black Mercedes, reported the sentry. The license plate is KN3033BC."

A tiny portion of Kashala’s apprehension faded. It was the right car. But were they the right buyers? He reached behind his back, drew his 9mm automatic, and flipped off the safety with his thumb. Kashala rolled his head around on his neck, listening to the crack and pop as he mentally prepared himself, should things turn south fast.

The car slowed, and stopped fifty meters from the warehouse. The driver flashed the headlights twice, and then switched off the engine. One of Kashala’s guards stepped out from behind a tall pile of wooden pallets, slung his AK, and brought up his flashlight. He signaled three times in response and waited. Finally, the doors to the Mercedes opened, and two people got out. One was a man, the other a woman. They raised their hands and stood motionless while two men hurried over and searched them for concealed weapons. The man checking the woman got too friendly and ran his hands over her chest. In the blink of an eye, the woman kicked the fool hard in the groin, sending him to the ground in agony. His partner smiled and laughed, but didn’t offer his friend any help.

They’re clean, boss, reported the uninjured gunman.

Good, send them to me, said Kashala, motioning with his pistol. The two buyers walked toward the warehouse. Kashala could see the man was white, but the woman’s ethnicity eluded him. Hispanic maybe? It didn’t matter; they matched the profiles he had been given, and that was all that mattered right now.

The couple stopped short and stood silent.

Good evening, Mister Blue and Miss White, said Kashala, knowing the names were false.

Bonsoir, said White. My associate and I are in a hurry, so if we could skip the usual small talk and get down to business, that would be highly appreciated.

Kashala nodded. But of course. Please follow me inside, I’ll show you the merchandise. He turned about and opened a door. This way, please.

White and Blue followed Kashala inside the dimly lit warehouse. Kashala reached over and flipped on a light switch, illuminating the vast room.

Oh, God, this is far worse than I had expected, thought Connor, looking at a couple of dozen cages filled with orphaned baby gorillas and chimpanzees. Victims of the lucrative bushmeat trade, the apes’ parents had been slaughtered for food, and the infants’ fates weren’t much better. Some were destined to be pets, others as zoo attractions, and some as exotic delicacies.

So, Mister Blue, what do you think of my little collection? asked Kashala, smiling.

It’s unbelievable, Connor replied truthfully. How much are you asking for the lot?

The lot? stammered the poacher.

Connor nodded convincingly. Yeah, the lot.

I thought you and Miss White were only interested in a pair of gorillas.

We were, but I’ve changed my mind. After seeing your magnificent haul, I know a client in Thailand who would pay handsomely for the lot. So, what’s it going to be?

Kashala slid his 9mm back into its holster, and ran a hand over his slender chin. The lot. Let me think.

Let me save you the time, said Kim. You have four gorillas, so that’s four million U.S. dollars. As for the twenty-three chimps, that’ll cost us an even twenty million dollars. So, let’s say twenty-two million for the lot.

Kashala chuckled. I was thinking twice that amount.

We’re not, Kim replied with a straight face, handing Kashala a card with her banking information embossed on it. And before you start haggling, twenty-five million is as high as we’re willing to go.

I don’t know. There are other buyers out there who would pay top dollar, sight unseen, for the animals.

Perhaps, but would you rather have twenty-five million today, or nothing tomorrow, if the police were to get wind of this place’s existence? mused Connor.

Kashala’s eyes narrowed. Are you threatening me, Mister Blue?

Not at all. Connor quickly sized up his opponent, and knew Kashala was all bluster, unlike the four former military armed guards watching the animals with cold, rugged looks in their eyes. But no one’s luck can hold out forever. Not even yours. We’ll give you a minute to consider our more than generous offer.

Kim and Connor strolled to a cage with a pair of infant gorillas sleeping in each other’s arms. Just the sight of them in captivity made Connor’s blood boil.

"Easy, does it, Blue, warned Kim. I’ve seen that look before. Remember, we’re supposed to be disinterested buyers, and nothing else."

I know, but—

But nothing. I thought I was coming to Africa on vacation.

Yeah, I know what I said, but—

Kim shook her head. No more buts, mister. You’re the one who told me that your teammate, Patrice, knows what to do the instant we leave. So, we’re leaving before anyone, namely us, gets hurt. Kim turned and faced Kashala. So, have you made up your mind, Mister Kashala?

Just one second, replied the poacher, holding up his phone. I have my banker in Geneva verifying your account info before we can seal the deal.

Suddenly, a panicked voice came through loud on Kashala’s radio. "Boss, we’ve got trouble. The police are here."

Kashala lowered his phone and brought up his Motorola. Say that again.

"I can see two cars and several trucks heading our way."

Kashala swore. Everyone, pull back to the warehouse. Now! He glared menacingly at Kim and Connor. You! You two lead the police here. Didn’t you?

Connor raised his hands. No way. It wasn’t us. The police are the last people Miss White and I would help.

I don’t believe you. Kashala waved one of his men over. Watch them. If they try to escape, kill them.

The man cocked his rusty AK and aimed it at Connor, as a dozen hired guns raced back inside the warehouse.

Connor looked at Kim and then at the back door. Aside from one nervous-looking young man checking and rechecking his AK, the way out appeared clear.

Outside, a man, using a megaphone, said in French, You in the warehouse; this is the police. Come out with your hands up, or we will be forced to take the building by storm.

What the hell? whispered Kim.

That wasn’t Patrice’s voice. It sounds like someone else has jumped the gun, surmised Connor.

Kim nodded. Yeah, and we’re right in the middle of everything.

The voice outside continued, This is your last warning. Surrender, or pay the consequences!

A sudden silence fell in the warehouse. Aside from the sound of ragged breathing, the air was still. Then, without warning, glass and wood shattered everywhere, showering the floor as thousands of bullets blasted the building apart. The apes screamed in fear and frantically tugged and tore at the bars of their cages, trying to escape the terrifying noise all around them.

Kim and Connor instinctively ducked, as did the man guarding them.

Gunfire erupted from Kashala’s men, adding to the deafening roar of battle. The fight quickly turned one-sided. Expert police snipers methodically shot down any poacher who was foolish enough to stick their heads up. Not one for bravery, Kashala saw he was losing and took to his heels. He sprinted for the back door.

Connor watched Kashala desert his men and run for his life. But there was no way in hell he was going to let him get away. He turned to give chase when the man guarding them brought his AK into his shoulder to fire.

Watch out! yelled Kim, distracting the gunman for a second. With lightning-fast reflexes, Kim slapped the man on the side of his neck with a taser ring, instantly incapacitating the guard. His knees buckled, and his body shook from the charge surging through his body. Connor saw his chance and leaped into action. Kim pulled back her hand as Connor ripped the AK from the stunned poacher’s hands, swung it around, and butt-stroked the unfortunate man, knocking him out cold.

Kashala, said Kim, pointing at the fleeing poacher as he pushed open the back door and ran outside.

Let’s go, said Connor, using whatever cover he could to avoid the hail of bullets as he led them toward the door. A guard saw them coming and fumbled to exchange his empty magazine for a full one. Connor never stopped. He fired on the run at the man, hitting him in the legs. The wounded poacher cried in agony and tumbled to the floor, clutching his bloody appendages. Connor bashed the back door open with his shoulder and rushed outside just in time to see Kashala jump into a Zodiac inflatable boat with two other men. He slid to a halt and fired a quick burst at the craft as it sped away over the ink-black waters of the Congo River. Connor swore and flashed an obscenity at the escaping poachers.

Connor, look, there’s another boat, Kim said, darting over to untie a second Zodiac from the pier. She jumped into the back of the craft and started the engine. Connor followed her and dropped down at the front of the boat with his AK at the ready. He ejected his weapon’s magazine and looked inside. Connor was unimpressed to find that half the magazine had already been used. He would have to make judicious use of the remaining bullets, to make sure they