Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller (11 page)

An hour and
a half later, Nia reported that Wang’s containers had indeed been offloaded from the ship and most had been dispatched by truck. When she asked the security guard if the container with a large white X on the side was one of them, he’d become cagey and told her he wasn’t aware of any with that specific marking.

After a late breakfast paid for with cash from Nia, they set out through an older section of Dar toward the address Lou had given Leine for the passport. The city was an eclectic mix of African, Arabian, Indian, and German architecture, with shiny new high rises dominating the Central District.

“I used to live down here,” Derek said, “but the fucking rents skyrocketed with all the growth. Most of the residential apartments are gone, taken over by businesses. Now you’d be lucky to find something under three thousand a month. It’s like losing the soul of the city.”

Several blocks later, they turned up a quiet side street into a residential neighborhood. An advertisement for a soft drink adorned the top of an open-air market, with cardboard boxes stacked several high in front, creating a backdrop for a half dozen five-gallon bottles of water. Most of the older buildings surrounding it had fallen into disrepair.

Derek double checked the address and stopped three doors down from the market.

“This is it,” he said, and stepped through the darkened doorway. Leine glanced up and down both sides of the street and, satisfied they hadn’t been shadowed, followed him in.

The burning incense didn’t even remotely mask the bizarre odors wafting about the small space. Unable to identify even one scent, Leine took shallow breaths. Where had Lou sent her? As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she had even more reason to wonder.

Glass shelves and cases lined the walls of the shop, most containing vials and plastic bags with mysterious substances. Resting beside several white boxes containing dark, shriveled, unidentifiable objects were hand written cards identifying each item. One read
Genitals, lion.
A vial next to it read
Blood of baboon, male.

Leine glanced at Derek and raised an eyebrow. He checked out a few more of the shelves’ contents and leaned in close.

“Witchdoctor,” he said in a low voice.

At that moment, a tall, imposing man pushed aside a heavy curtain at the back of the store and entered the room. “May I help you?

The dark print dashiki and several gold necklaces set off the man’s luminous eyes. There was something unusual about him, but in the dim light Leine was unable to put her finger on exactly what it was.

“I’m here to pick up a passport for Claire Sanborn,” Leine said.

The man nodded. “Yes. It is almost ready. One moment.” His clipped British accent didn’t match his appearance and surroundings. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving them alone.

Derek continued to peruse the shelves while Leine crossed her arms and leaned against a glass case.

“I take it this is legal?” she said.

“He’s considered a healer by most.” Derek shrugged. “I doubt the police would waste their time harassing him unless someone complained. Your friend Lou certainly knows interesting people.” He pointed to a set of bones behind a glass case. “Leopard. The claws and teeth are supposed to give the wearer the strength and hunting ability of their original owner.”

“And baboon blood?”

“They’re fierce as hell. Bravery and agility, most likely.”

Leine shook her head. “So you’re trying to tell me LA Fitness wouldn’t go over too well here?”

Derek snorted. “Yeh. Africans are an interesting mix of modern beliefs and old superstitions, you know? It’s in their blood to believe in the spirit world and magic. With a continent this massive wide swaths of the country survive without the Internet. The old beliefs are strong, especially in rural communities. In some places they still banish people thought to be witches. All it takes is some fetish priest with a bone to pick, if you’ll excuse the pun, and the person is branded a witch and sent to live among outcasts. At least most of the general population has abandoned the idea of killing them.”

“What is it about him? There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on,” Leine said, nodding toward the curtain where the man had disappeared. They were standing in front of the delicate skull of some luckless animal, killed because someone thought its spirit remained attached to its body at death.

“Did you catch the amount of makeup the guy was wearing?” Derek shook his head. “He makes a transvestite look like a kid playing dress up.”

“That must be it. I wasn’t close enough to see.”

“Could be an albino.” Derek shrugged.

“Why would he feel the need for makeup?”

“Because there’s a good chance he’d be killed.”

“What?”

“Some believe the body parts of an albino are strong medicine and will bring good luck and prosperity,” Derek explained. “Traditional healers have been known to use the arms, legs, genitals, whatever they can whack off with a machete. Lately, though, it’s children who are being targeted.” He crossed his arms. “Children have always been targeted, albino or not. Either they’re sold to the highest bidder, or they’re abducted and hacked to death. It’s believed the body parts of the innocent will bring power and position. Especially during an election cycle.”

“And that sex with a virgin will cure AIDs.”

Derek nodded. “Yeh. And yet there are beautiful homes and fine restaurants here, and some of the better medical services on the continent. Like I said, Africa’s an interesting blend.”

A moment later the shopkeeper reappeared through the curtain. In his hand was a British passport. He gave it to Leine, and she flipped through the pages. Her picture had been secured and stamped, and there were entries to several other countries in the pages that followed. All in all, a superb forgery. Leine closed the passport and slid it into her back pocket.

“Thank you. I trust Lou took care of this?” she asked.

The man nodded. “Yes. There is nothing more you need do, unless you’ve found something you’d like from my cases?”

Leine shook her head. “Not really my cup of tea.”

He shrugged and glanced at Derek. The air in the room stilled and the man’s eyes gleamed in the dim light before they rolled back in his head. Leine tensed, eyeing the exit, and took several steps back.

“You have been the hunter,” the man said, his voice a monotone, “but are now the hunted.”

Startled, Derek said, “Wait a minute, now—”

“Death is no stranger to you,” he continued, his voice growing louder. “You have wielded the power only gods are allowed, and the spirits cry out for justice.” His chest heaved, his breath coming in short bursts. Leine’s fingers closed around the knife in her pocket.

“Death will continue to stalk you.” His voice dropped to a murmur and he gripped the edge of the counter. “The spirits demand atonement. If you do not do as they wish, Death will claim its payment and you will cry for mercy.”

The witchdoctor closed his eyes and drew in a prolonged breath, letting it go with a loud
ahhh.
Then he opened his eyes and stared at Derek. Leine half expected him to hold out his hand and demand payment, but he remained still. Derek stayed rooted to the spot as the two men stared at each other. Derek broke the spell first by shaking his head as he backed away.

“Time to go, Claire.” He turned and strode toward the door. A muffled expletive escaped him as he clipped the corner of one of the glass cabinets on his way out.

“Thanks for the passport,” Leine said before she stepped through the door and onto the sidewalk, blinking against the blinding sunshine. She found Derek doubled over next to the building taking deep breaths, his hands on his knees.

Leine leaned against the stucco wall next to him.

“You all right?” she asked.

Derek straightened and plastered a weak smile on his face, obviously trying to cover his reaction.

“Never better,” he replied.

Perspiration ran down the side of his face and his upper lip glistened. She didn’t think it was from the heat. A woman walked past them wearing a brilliantly colored
kitenge,
using one hand to balance an immense basket on her head. The ability had always amazed Leine.

“You’re taking what he said seriously.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head.

Leine gave him a sharp look. He avoided her gaze. Leine crossed her arms.

“Okay,” Derek admitted. “Yes. I take what he said seriously.” He stared into the street, not focusing on anything. “I grew up here, remember. The things I’ve seen.” He nodded behind them, apparently indicating the rest of Africa. “Strange goings on. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Probably not.” Leine stepped away from the wall. “Either way, we should go. It’s getting late, and I have to get to the bank.”

He squared his shoulders and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I’ll give you directions. There’s something I need to do in the meantime.”

Leine slid the
money into a grocery bag, thanked the teller, and exited the air conditioned bank. Surrounded by modern office buildings with myriad street-level storefronts, Dar es Salaam’s central business district was a bustling enterprise, choked by too many cars carrying too many people traveling in too many directions. Slightly less humid than Bangkok, nevertheless the two cities were twin sons of a different mother: chaos reigned, albeit in a more
laissez faire
style, and the energy of the downtown core was palpable.

Derek waited for her at a coffee shop one block over. From there, they would hire a taxi to Derek’s home in the Mikocheni District, about fifteen minutes away. If luck was with them, they’d be able to store whatever weapons and gear they’d need in his Range Rover and leave that evening.

Leine stepped into a narrow alley and quickly pulled a small amount of cash from the stack of bills in her bag, which she placed in her front pocket. Carrying around several thousand dollars in a grocery bag wasn’t ideal, but until she purchased a backpack or bag of some kind it would have to do. She retraced her steps and continued down the boulevard, headed north toward the coffee shop.

Half-way down the block, a window advertising clothes and gear caught her eye, and she veered into the small business.

Deciding against anything too colorful in order to blend, Leine picked out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of khaki bush pants with side pockets, several pair of underwear, socks, and a hat with a brim. The clerk showed her to a fitting room where she changed into the new clothing and distributed the money between pockets. Her filthy clothes went into the now empty grocery bag.

Leine chose a multi-tool with a five-inch, spring-assisted knife; a compass; and a small container of waterproof matches. Redundancy never hurt on an operation. Especially if Derek didn’t stick around. She paid for her purchases and left.

Back on the street, Leine tossed the bag of filthy clothing into a nearby trash can and continued down the boulevard and around the corner, headed for the coffee shop. She made one more stop at another store, this one with dozens of handbags and backpacks hanging on a rack outside on the sidewalk. Leine chose a leather messenger bag, and continued on to her meeting with Derek.

She spotted him as she neared the tables situated on the sidewalk outside the café. He was talking animatedly to a barrel-chested man with a swarthy complexion standing next to his table. The man smiled, although it looked as though Derek wasn’t happy to see him. Leine slowed her pace and scanned the area. Two tables near Derek were occupied; one by a young couple with a small child, the other by an older man intent on a thick book spread out before him. Neither appeared to pose an immediate threat. The man near Derek, however, crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, no longer smiling.

Noticing Leine approach, Derek turned toward the man and said something with a head nod in her direction. The other man looked her way and narrowed his eyes. He uncrossed his arms and said something to Derek. Derek stood up, dug in his front pocket, pulled out a wad of something and shoved it at him. The man accepted whatever Derek had offered him, glancing at it before throwing it onto the table. Leine was close enough to hear the anger in the man’s voice, although she didn’t catch his words. He shouted something else and then stalked off.

Leine joined the poacher at the table, keeping an eye on the man who’d just left.

“Who’s your friend?”

Derek grimaced and took a drink from the glass in front of him, setting it down hard enough that beer sloshed over the rim.

“He was no friend.” He cleared his throat. “He was, as are most of my contacts in this godforsaken shit-hole of a city, acutely interested in what I can pay him for his continued silence.” He shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted at her. “Looks like Wang’s already gotten the word out. If things continue as they are, I’ll run out of money soon. I’ve already given out a half dozen IOUs.” He picked up the cash the other man had thrown onto the table and tucked it into his pocket. “It won’t matter, anyway. Someone will tell Wang or his thugs I’m in town. Most of my acquaintances aren’t what you’d call the honorable type.”

“Then we’d better get moving.” Orange-tinted cumulonimbus clouds had begun to build ominously to the north, indicating an approaching storm.

“Yeh. We’d better. Looks like the weather’s changing.” Derek slid his chair back and stood. “Have any trouble with the money?”

“No. There should be enough for whatever we need. The faster we move, the sooner we’ll find Wang’s camp. I don’t want the trail growing cold.”

“You know, that diamond was a big chunk of my retirement,” he said, eyeing the messenger bag. “If it wasn’t for my generosity, you’d still be on that ship, headed for an uncertain end.”

Leine considered him for a moment. “Duly noted. Help me find the camp and we’ll discuss compensation.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

She shrugged. “You don’t.”

***

Twenty minutes later the taxi pulled to the side of the road two blocks from Derek’s house. Derek paid the driver, and the car sped off in search of another fare. A light rain had begun to fall, tamping down the dirt road. The atmosphere was redolent with ozone and damp earth and electricity, portending a steady build to the approaching storm.

“We should go in through the back—the alley behind the house leads to a gate that opens onto the courtyard where the Rover’s parked. There aren’t many places to hide, so we should be able to see if anyone’s waiting there. My guess is that Wang’s stationed someone at the front of the house and another covering the back. If we can take out the guy in back, then we should be able to get what we need without alerting the one watching the front.”

They crept along the dirt-track alley behind stately white- and tangerine-painted stucco homes, most of them cordoned off behind high block walls. A wicked breeze kicked up out of nowhere and slashed at the palm trees, the shadows cast from the sodium yard lights dancing a macabre tango. A few houses down, a dog whined.

Leine wiped a damp strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She squinted at the dark shapes near the walls they passed, alert for unwanted guests. Fat drops splatted against her like a wet dog shaking its coat after a swim. Though solid in her hand, the extended blade of the multi-tool didn’t give her the same confidence as a side arm.

About halfway down the alley, Derek stopped near a solid metal gate with a large padlock guarding a stucco wall.

“This is it.”

The backyard light was burned out, which worked in their favor. The neighbor’s light from across the alley didn’t reach Derek’s gate, leaving them in shadow.

He bent down, turned over a flat rock near the base of the wall, and retrieved a key. “Doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with,” he muttered, inspecting the lock.

Leine kept watch as he opened the padlock with a crisp
snick.
He quietly removed it and hung it on the hasp before easing the gate open just wide enough for them to squeeze through. With one last scan of the alley, Leine followed him into the courtyard.

They paused by the wall, taking in their surroundings. The curved brick driveway was bathed in darkness, except for a small area where a next-door neighbor’s dim light encroached. A windshield glinted in the carport, the rest of the Rover a large black mass.

The storm intensified, pelting them with cold rain. The runoff flowed past them in a muddy river, searching for escape through the holes at the foot of the wall. Leine followed Derek across the driveway, narrowing her eyes against the wind as it whipped past, kicking sand and gravel up into her face. They took shelter in the alcove near the back door.

Derek leaned in close so he didn’t have to shout over the sound of the driving wind. “Looks like we’re clear.”

An instant later, a round slammed into the wall beside Derek, sending pieces of stucco flying. Leine dropped to the ground and rolled to the other side of the alcove, coming to her feet in a crouch, her back flat against the wall. Derek dove beside her.

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“Shh.” Leine held her finger to her lips. “Can you make it through the door?”

Derek took a deep breath and glanced at the entry. “I think so.”

“Go.”

In a crouch, he shadowed the wall to the door and eased his hand over the doorknob. Two more shots went wide, tearing into the side of the home. Sections of stucco and concrete exploded into the entryway. Derek turned the handle and swung the door open. Leine waited until he cleared the entrance, and then sprinted inside and slammed the door shut behind them, locking it against the muted pop of gunfire. The staccato thump of bullets peppered the wood outside, but the door held. Glass shattered as the gunman scored a direct hit on the outside light.

Leine stood in a short hallway that opened onto a large living room. Immediately to her right was the kitchen; the LED clock on the microwave glowed green. A staircase leading to the second floor stood several feet forward and to the left. A faint glow from a streetlamp outside massive clerestory windows at the front of the house spilled across the living room, partially illuminating the interior. The oversized front door appeared solid, similar to the back entrance.

Should give us a short window of time,
Leine thought.

“Fuck me,” Derek muttered, and moved past the kitchen. Leine followed him, keeping distance between them in case someone was inside the house.

“Think he has a radio?” Leine asked.

“Probably. If there
is
another guy out front, we’re screwed.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t give up so easily.”

Derek snorted. “You’re right. I’m not used to being the prey, you check?”

“Yeah, I check,” Leine replied. “Where’s the equipment?”

“Upstairs,” he said, nodding toward the staircase. Three steps led to a landing before the stairs took a sharp left turn and ran the rest of the way to the second floor. The main threat was the floor-to-ceiling windows dominating the living room. They’d be like sitting ducks in a shooting gallery if a gunman was sighting on the front of the house.

“We need to move before they have a chance to get into position,” Leine said. She dropped to the floor and field-crawled across the tile toward the stairway. After a moment’s hesitation, Derek did the same.

Leine reached the bottom step and sprang up the three stairs onto the landing. Just as Derek reached the bottom, there was a muted
pop-pop-pop
and one of the massive front windows shattered, a thousand glass shards splintering across the floor.

“Go, go, GO,” Derek yelled and Leine sprinted up the stairs with Derek close behind her.

They reached the landing on the second floor and Derek took the lead, racing down the long corridor, past a bathroom and several bedrooms to the end of the hall. He reached above the frame for the key, unlocked the door, and kicked it open.

Inside the room were gun cases, gun safes, and boxes of differing sizes. Plywood covered the window at the far end. Sightless eyes stared down at Leine from above; mounted heads of long-dead predators and prey decorated the walls. She took a step backward and bumped into what she thought was a piece of furniture. She turned and caught her breath, startled by a fully stuffed, life-size lioness standing behind her, glassy eyes glinting in the dim light of the closet. Body poised at the moment of attack, its fierce expression was frozen in a perpetual snarl, claws extended as though ready to strike. 

Leine shook it off and approached Derek, who was in the process of flinging open boxes and safes. He tossed her an MP5, along with two full magazines. She slid one mag into the gun and pocketed the other. Derek did the same.

“Since when does a poacher need a submachine gun?” Leine asked, slipping on a shoulder holster. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Since poaching became so lucrative.” Derek handed her several boxes of ammunition, a 9mm semiautomatic pistol, and a canvas bag to which he added two torches, two knives with wicked-looking ten-inch blades, and more matches. “I’ve seen them use AK-47s, grease guns, grenades, whatever gets the job done.”

“Good to know.”

The rapid
pop-pop-pop
of a machine gun erupted outside the front of the house.

“Shit. There goes my good neighbor award.”

“Got a plan?” Leine asked.

“No plan, but thanks for asking.” Derek threw an aerosol can into the bag. “Bug juice,” he explained.

“I’ll need the gun,” Leine said, nodding at the M21 sniper rifle next to him.

Derek handed it to her. “You know how to work one of these?”

Leine nodded. The rifle was surprisingly light. “It’s been a while. Anything I should know about it?”

“Only that it’s accurate as hell.”

“How many ways out of here?”

“Just the front and back doors,” Derek replied. “I guarantee the guy in back’s covering the Rover.”

“What about roof access?”

“Down the hall to your left. The master bedroom has a balcony that overlooks the neighbors. A big acacia obscures the view from the street. You’re going to have partial exposure from the back, though. Depends on where he’s set up.”