Legitimate Business

Ritu Roy, a constable with an all-female United Nations peacekeeping unit in Darfur, Sudan, has been shot dead. Her superiors call it a random shooting, but her partner, Constable Priya Choudhury, thinks otherwise. She’s found a bullet casing from a sniper’s rifle, an uncommon weapon in the refugee camp.

The case remains closed until Valentin Vermeulen arrives to conduct a routine audit. As an investigator with the UN, his job is to ferret out fraud. And that casing is the first clue that Ritu may have stumbled onto a major criminal operation. Solving the mystery of Ritu’s death leads Vermeulen down a perilous path. With the help of journalist Tessa Bishonga, he visits the hidden camp of a notorious rebel leader and dodges a parade of shady characters on the streets of Port Sudan. In the end, Vermeulen must expose the players in the not-so-legitimate business of supplying weapons to Sudan…before he becomes their next target.

Legitimate Business is available at your favorite bookstores:

Praise for Legitimate Business

A gripping thriller set against the backdrop of one of the most violent regions in the world. Niemann is an excitingly original voice in the genre.—Michael Stanley, award winning author of the Detective Kubu mysteries.

The Real Deal.—Ed Battistella, author of Sorry About That.

It strips us of illusions that simplistic news reports tell us the whole truth.—Sharon Dean, author of Tour de Trace, Death of a Keynote Speaker, and Cemetary Wine.

A Crackling Good Thriller. – Clive Rosengren, author of Murder Unscripted, Red Desert and Velvet on a Tuesday Afternoon.

Background

Where is Darfur?

Locations

Photo courtesy of UNAMID

Armored Personnel Carrier on Patrol Photo: UNAMID

Rwandan Police Women Photo: UNAMID

Port Sudan Market

International Day of UN Peacekeepers Photo: UNAMID

Click to read an excerpt

The sky had become overcast. The air stood still, and sweat beaded on Vermeulen’s forehead. He didn’t care. The mix of nervous energy and anticipation he knew from his previous cases was back.

“We must head back. It’s too dangerous without backup,” Gupta said.

“Come on, man,” Vermeulen said. “The Bangladeshi women patrol on their own.”

“Yes, and one of them is dead now. Zam Zam is always unpredictable.”

“We’ll leave after I speak to Amina.”

Wambui inched the Nissan along the bumpy dirt until they reached the end of a row.

“Now where to?”

“Turn left,” Tessa said. “Amina’s family lives three rows over.”

Before they reached the third row, they saw people run toward them. Wambui nosed the car to the corner and stopped, half concealed by a hovel. Three hundred feet down the row stood two pickups with heavy machine guns mounted on their beds. Several men stood near the trucks. One of them leaned against the gun on the first truck. Wambui stopped.

“Shit!” Gupta said. “Those are technicals. We gotta get out of here.”

“Technicals are the preferred fighting vehicles of the rebels,” Tessa said, as if Vermeulen didn’t know that already.

“What are they doing here?” Vermeulen said.

“That could be Amina’s place,” Tessa said.

“It doesn’t matter!” Gupta said. “We have to leave. Now.”

Wambui put the Nissan in reverse.

“Wait,” Vermeulen said. “If that’s Amina’s place, I want to see what’s going on there.”

“No! We can’t go against two technicals. Those are .57-caliber machine guns,” Gupta shouted.

“He’s right,” Sami said. “They’d tear us to shreds in seconds.” “

Who said anything about shooting?” Vermeulen said.

The men with the technicals weren’t shooting. They weren’t even brandishing their guns. They just stood there. It wasn’t an ambush.

“You stay here. I’m going to speak with them.”

“Are you crazy?” Specks of saliva flew from Gupta’s lips. “I forbid it. I’m in charge here and we are going back.”

“You can go back if you like, but you can’t forbid me to speak to anyone.”

Vermeulen climbed from the Nissan and walked slowly toward the men. Their guns hung from their shoulders. One gestured to another, and he heard laughter. The machine gunner’s arms and head rested on the gun. They were relaxed. The trick was not to surprise them. He shouted “Hello!” and waved. The gunner on the technical looked up, saw Vermeulen, and cocked his head. Taking his time, he swung the long barrel toward the stranger. The other men turned to look at him. Two pulled their rifles from their backs, also moving at a leisurely pace. They didn’t look like AK-47s, not that it mattered. At this distance even an old hunting rifle would do serious damage.

It was too late to turn around now. That much was clear. The fifty yards between him and the pickups seemed much longer. Raising his hands in the international sign of surrender, Vermeulen kept going.