Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller (17 page)

Hugh and one
of his crewmembers, a young Tanzanian named Rashid, rolled up at five twenty in a four-door pickup pulling a flatbed trailer with the balloon and basket. Leine and Derek climbed into the backseat and they headed down the drive in the dark, turning left when they reached the main road. Half an hour later, they parked near a flat area devoid of trees.

While Derek and Rashid rolled out the massive fabric envelope, Hugh and Leine removed the gas-powered fan from the back of the pickup and stationed it near the mouth of the balloon. Derek ran back and helped Leine hold the mouth open as Hugh turned on the fan, aiming directly into the balloon. As air inflated the envelope, Rashid stood near the crown, holding on to a rope connected to the top. Once the balloon was fully inflated, Hugh took control of the burners and fired, shooting hot air into the multicolored fabric. The envelope lifted gracefully into the air, a giant behemoth come alive, dragging Rashid across the ground toward them until he let go of the rope. At Hugh’s instruction, Leine and Derek climbed into the wicker basket while Rashid sprinted over and jumped on to help weigh them down. The balloon hovered a few inches above the ground, straining to fly.

“Okay, Rashid, time for lift off,” Hugh said. Rashid hopped off the basket onto the ground, and the balloon began to rise as the earth dropped away. Rashid and the pickup grew smaller until they looked like miniatures.

Except for the occasional blast from the burner, the flight was quiet and serene, with no sense of movement. The rising sun bathed the terrain in a crisp, yellow-orange glow. A hush fell over the landscape punctuated by early morning birdsong. Leine leaned against the edge of the basket and took in the scenery, keeping an eye out for Wang’s camp. At one point, the sound of the burner flushed several
dik diks
from the brush below them.

“Do you have any idea where the camp might be?” Hugh asked Leine.

“Not really. The last known location was approximately ten kilometers northwest of here.”

“Why? Can you steer this thing?” Derek asked.

“In a fashion. Remember that little black balloon I launched earlier? That told me which way the wind was blowing at different levels. So, when I want to head that way,” Hugh pointed over Derek’s shoulder, “I climb or drop to the level with the wind direction I need and let nature take it from there.”

“What happens when a storm comes up?” Derek asked.

“This time of year’s tricky because of the monsoons. If I see clouds building up anywhere nearby, I’ll land.”

“Glad to hear it,” Leine said.

Hugh steered to the northwest, flying over trees and grassland. A herd of zebra scattered as the balloon approached. As soon as they flew past, the animals regrouped and resumed their grazing. Derek spotted several objects in the distance and asked Hugh to maneuver them closer. As they neared the spot, the objects in question turned out to be a Maasai settlement with mud huts and fenced-in cattle, so they continued on. The landscape gradually changed from straight savannah to an intermixed, wooded terrain.

About an hour into the flight, Hugh warned, “I only have enough propane to fly another twenty minutes.” He radioed Rashid that they’d be landing soon. Rashid, who had been following them in the pickup, acknowledged the transmission and continued to track them.

Just then, Leine caught a glimpse of several colorful objects nestled in a wooded area.

“Look. Over there.” She handed Derek the binoculars.

He nodded. “Promising.”

Hugh changed course and they floated toward the spot in question. This time it wasn’t a Maasai settlement, but a small group of brightly colored tents next to an even larger assemblage of tan ones.

“I think we found it,” Leine said.

“Sorry, guys, but I gotta land.”

As they neared the ground, the wind kicked up and pushed them toward a thorn tree. Hugh blasted the burners, raising the balloon to a calmer wind level, then tried again. This time they dropped gently toward the earth.

Rashid caught the rope Hugh threw overboard, and guided them to an open area. Hugh opened the vent at the top of the balloon, allowing the hot air to escape. The envelope and basket sank gracefully.

“Thank you, Hugh. This was just what we needed,” Leine said. She climbed over the edge of the basket and dropped to the ground. Derek followed.

“My pleasure, guys. I hope you find whoever you’re looking for. And,” he added, “I hope to hell you mess with Victor Wang. A lot of people would be grateful.”

Leine turned to say something to Rashid when a burst of gunfire erupted behind them. Hugh’s head snapped back, and his body crumpled to the basket floor. Rashid froze, staring in horror at his mentor.

“Get down!” Leine ran at Rashid in a crouch and connected with his midsection, propelling him behind the basket. Derek followed seconds later. The gunfire intensified. Leine and Derek drew their weapons, each taking a corner.

“This wicker won’t stop much,” Derek said, his breathing heavy.

“No kidding,” Leine replied.

Eyes wide, Rashid attempted to stand. Keeping her attention on the three visible gunmen moving through the trees, she shoved the younger man to the ground.

“Stay down!”

“Get to the truck. I’ll cover you both,” Derek said, nodding to where Rashid had parked several yards behind them.

Leine pushed up to a crouch and Rashid did the same, the whites of his eyes visible. Leine held up her fingers and mouthed, “
One, two…”

On three, the two sprinted toward the truck, staying low, the sound of gunfire exploding behind them. Rashid tore around the front of the truck to the driver’s side while Leine wrenched the passenger door open and dove onto the floor. He slammed the truck into gear and stood on the accelerator. For a sickening moment the wheels spun, spitting rocks and dirt, trying to gain traction. The truck’s tires finally grabbed hold and they rocketed toward Derek.

It looked like they were going to overshoot the balloon, but at the last minute Rashid gunned the motor, spun the steering wheel, and hauled on the emergency brake. The truck skidded alongside the basket, kicking up a cloud of dirt and almost jackknifing the trailer.

“Get in!” Leine shouted, holding the door open. Derek emptied his magazine at the remaining gunmen and launched himself into the truck. Leine dragged the door closed and Rashid punched the accelerator to the floor.

Bullets pinged the trailer and truck bed as they careened through the tall grass. Seconds later, they bounced onto the dirt road, the trailer fishtailing behind them. Rashid kept driving and stared straight ahead, his knuckles blanched white on the steering wheel.

“Holy shit,” Derek said. “What the hell was that?”

Leine turned to look out the back window. Her heart thudded in her chest with the familiar rush of an adrenaline spike. She glanced at Rashid to see how he was holding up and noticed tears streaming down his face.

“We must retrieve his body.” Rashid’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the engine.

“We will, Rashid. I promise,” Leine answered.

Derek shook his head. “Not bloody now, I can tell you that. I only knocked down one of the fuckers. The other two just kept coming.”

“Did you see how they were dressed? In military gear,” Leine said.

“They were serious, that’s for sure. Looked to me like the militia group Alma was talking about. Weapons, fatigues. Matching caps. The lot. Glad they were far enough away. I doubt they would’ve missed, otherwise.”

Rashid kept his eyes on the road and didn’t comment. Leine touched his arm. He continued to stare through the windshield.

“Look, I realize Hugh was your friend. I’m sorry it happened. But we can’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

“He was teaching me to fly,” Rashid said in a quiet voice. He grew silent for a moment before he asked, “Was this man whose camp you are looking for responsible?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” Leine sighed. She was getting tired of Wang and people like him. Of his belief that he had the right to take whatever and whomever he wanted for his sole profit, damn the consequences.

Too bad Wang wasn’t in Africa. She’d have liked a shot at him. One less asshole to contend with.

Forty-five minutes later, Rashid dropped them off at the Center. He refused Leine’s invitation to join them, insisting instead that he wanted to see his family, especially his children. Unable to talk him into staying, Leine and Derek wished him well and warned him not to go back to the site.

“In fact, Leine and I were planning to pick up the body tonight, when it’s dark.”

Leine nodded. “We’ll take him to his wife.”

“May I come with you?” Rashid asked.

Leine glanced at Derek, who shook his head.

“Of course, Rashid. Meet us here after dark,” Leine said, ignoring the look Derek gave her. “Where does Hugh’s wife live? We’ll need to inform her of her husband’s death.”

Rashid squared his shoulders. “I will go to Captain Hugh’s home and tell his wife.”

“Are you sure? Would you like one of us to go with you?” Leine asked.

“No. I will do this thing.” He climbed back into the pickup and drove away.

Leine watched him go, anger at Wang rising in her chest.

“Why did you tell him he could come with us?” Derek stood in front of her, legs spread and his arms crossed. “He’ll end up being just one more complication to worry about, you check?”

“And if I didn’t tell him he could come along?” Leine crossed her arms to match his. “Did you notice the determined look on his face? Rashid was going back to get Hugh with or without us. I’d prefer we kept the casualties to a minimum, if that’s all right with you.”

Derek stared past her, his jaw set, reminding Leine of a little boy who didn’t get his way.

“Whatever,” she said, not waiting for his answer. “Pissed off or not, I refuse to be responsible for another innocent life cut short by Wang’s men.
You
check?” With that, she started for the main building. She’d have to give Hattie and Alma the bad news. Derek didn’t follow right away.

Good
, she thought. It would give them both time to cool off.

***

As Leine expected, Alma and Hattie didn’t take the news well. When she told them they were going back that evening to retrieve Hugh’s body, Alma protested.

“One body’s enough,” she said. “Those men demonstrated that they’d shoot anyone who came close to the camp. What makes you think there won’t be someone watching the balloon, or that they haven’t already taken the body away?”

“We’ve got it covered, Alma,” Derek said. “We’re going to do recon before going in. We’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you two will be, but what about Rashid?”

Derek gave Leine a look. “I have every confidence that Rashid will do as we say.”

“He would have gone in on his own,” Leine added. “If he tried that, the chances are high he’d be killed.”

“Oh. Well. That’s different.” Alma shook her head. “Hugh was such a good man.” Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away.

“I’m so sorry, Alma. We didn’t realize...” Leine searched for an adequate explanation but found nothing to help.

Alma wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “It’s not your fault, Claire. Hugh knew what kind of man Wang was, knew there’d be risk involved. This
is
Africa.”

Leine was beginning to hate that saying.

Victor Wang studied
his cigar, enjoying the sweet, spicy scent of the expensive tobacco. He produced a silver cutter from his pocket and expertly snipped off the end. With the strike of a long wooden match, Wang held the cigar a distance from the flame, allowing the sulfur to burn away before he warmed and eventually lit the end. He extinguished the match and dropped it into the crystal ashtray next to his chair.

Sapphire had poured him a measure of Tasmanian scotch, neat, and Wang held the glass beneath his nose, giving it a delicate sniff. He’d gotten the last bottle of the award-winning single-malt whiskey and had paid more than £1,500 for the opportunity.

Today, however, the whiskey and fine cigar did nothing to dispel Victor’s bad mood. He disliked doing business with the men who were coming to meet him today, preferred to conduct meetings in his adopted city of Bangkok. He realized if he wanted to continue to operate without restriction in Tanzania, he would have to strike a deal with the devil, which was how he viewed impending negotiations. Besides, they
had
delivered several fine specimens for his “lion reserve,” as well as the girl Zara, whom the men had reported as being a kind of big cat whisperer.

Wang had to admit she worked well with the abandoned cubs and the juvenile males that he’d purchased, although she tended to bond too strongly with them for his taste. He hadn’t explained what she was training them for, nor would he. She could easily become a liability if she knew his intention of becoming the biggest canned hunting operator in Tanzania. Let the South Africans have their cheap camps for those who wished to feel the thrill of killing a tame African lion. Victor Wang would give his large cats only enough exposure to humans so that they could easily be moved from camp to camp. The rest of the time he intended to make sure the feline’s ferocious reputation as “man-eaters” was honed to a fine edge. Then he could charge a premium, adding the Asian tigers from his last shipment to the menu as another incentive.

Sapphire appeared in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of his expensive Saville Row dress shirts and a lazy smile. The electronic shock collar around her neck gave her a butch appearance that Wang liked. She studied him with her almond-shaped eyes as she touched herself through the fabric, her nipples hardening. Wang sipped his whiskey and glanced at his watch to gauge the time. Doctor Death, as the militant leader liked to call himself, was notoriously late to anything except an execution. Wang deemed he had close to an hour before Death’s entourage arrived. Victor opened the top of his oversized pinkie ring to reveal a chamber filled with gray powder, and shook some of it into his drink. He then swirled the glass, giving the golden liquid a cloudy cast.

Sapphire’s lazy smile turned into a knowing one as she watched him take a sip of the whiskey. She unbuttoned the shirt, eyes riveted to his, and ran her fingers along her neck and down her chest to circle first one nipple, and then another. Her hand dipped lower, and she began to touch herself, emitting a soft moan as she did.

Wang shifted in his chair, his erection growing. Sapphire closed her eyes as she brought her fingers to her mouth and licked each one. Keeping his eyes on her, he finished his drink and stood, his breath coming faster. He unbuckled his belt, sliding it through the loops until free. Coiling it around his hand, he stepped closer, still watching her, his erection throbbing.

Her eyes opened to slits, she moved backward into the tent until she was next to the bed. He followed, stopping in front of her.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice hoarse. “And take off my shirt.”

Sapphire did as she was told, draping the expensive shirt over the end of the four-poster bed. Wang licked his lips, taking in the curtain of dark hair cascading down her back, hiding the ugly discoloration from their previous session, now yellow with a hint of black. He enjoyed looking at her small, firm buttocks and slender legs. The blood pulsed through his temples, the purported aphrodisiac qualities of the black rhino horn sweeping through his system. He felt invincible, convinced he could read minds, fuck for hours, and rule the world. His mind raced, unwilling to believe the sensations were due only to a placebo effect.

He
had
to figure out a way to acquire more rhinos.

“Fucking endangered list,” he muttered.

“What did you say, my king?” Sapphire asked, turning her head at his words.

“Do not speak,” he snapped, and dropped one end of his belt so that the heavy buckle dangled freely. Sapphire hunched her shoulders and ducked her head, growing quiet. Victor Wang drew his hand back and swung the buckle through the air so that it landed with a sickening thud against her lower back, clearing the other bruises by several inches.

Without saying a word, she grabbed the bedpost with both hands and squared her shoulders, bracing for more. Wang continued, raising angry red welts the length of her body, filling in where he’d left off the day before.

He reined himself in just shy of a complete beating and dropped the belt to the floor.

***

An hour later, Victor Wang left Sapphire on the bed, passed out from the pain, and walked onto the front deck. Several men wearing sunglasses and holding AK-47s stood next to a group of late-model four-wheel-drive pickups. A broad-shouldered, powerfully built man wearing a beard and head scarf leaned against the fender of the front vehicle, grinning.

“You are like the animals your guests hunt, eh, Victor?” The man laughed and the rest of the men joined him. “I have never seen such a beast. You take what you want and act out your fantasies with the whore.” He shook his head. “If I did not know any better, I would think you had been sampling the dark powder.”

Victor Wang smiled, hiding his distaste for the militant and his men. “Welcome. Will you join me for a drink?” He held out his hand, indicating the chair next to his.

Assad Khouri, known to his men as Doctor Death, shrugged off his rifle and handed it to the man next to him before ascending the steps to take Wang’s seat. He sniffed the empty glass on the table.

“I will have some of that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as he leaned back in the chair, his legs splayed in what could only be considered an insolent posture.

Wang walked over to a nearby bamboo cabinet to retrieve a lesser bottle of scotch and another glass. He returned to the table and poured a measure of whiskey for each of them.

“Only the finest for you,” Wang said, smiling.

Doctor Death picked up the glass and sniffed. As Wang had anticipated, he downed the drink in one gulp.

Wang poured another for him, set the bottle on the table, and picked up his drink. Unwilling to spend more time with his guest than was absolutely necessary, Victor eschewed diplomacy and got down to business.

“Do you have what I requested?”

Assad threw back half of his scotch before replying. “Eighteen hundred kilos.”

Wang gave him a sharp look. “I asked for twice that.”

He shrugged. “You will get it. The drones are becoming a problem. We were lucky to find what we have.”

“Where is it?” Wang asked, scanning the pickups. Transporting that much ivory in open pickup beds would arouse suspicion. The shipment required a larger, enclosed truck.

“The load is on its way to Dar. I don’t feel comfortable having so much with me.”

Heat rose in Wang’s face. “We had a deal,” he said, his voice flat.

Assad waved his concerns away. “It is much safer this way. Now, it is only two of my men who are at risk. And, when you call your people at the port, there will be no problem.”

Victor Wang swallowed his anger and raised the glass to his lips. He took another sip and set it back on the table.

“That is not what we planned.” The words exited his mouth like sparks from a welding torch.

Assad leveled his gaze at his business partner and smiled, reminding Wang of a snarling tiger.

“The plan needed to change. It was not safe.” He raised his eyes skyward. “They have drones everywhere now. Even at night they can see you.”

“My source tells me they have not yet reached this area.” Wang struggled to reassure the paranoid militant. “The organizations who spearheaded the campaign are working on funding, but they haven’t yet saturated our section of Africa with their foul machines. Besides,” Wang swept his arm in front of him, “we are surrounded by many kilometers of wilderness here. I doubt you need to worry.”

Assad slammed his glass on the table. Wang’s drink danced, sloshing whiskey over the sides.

“You do NOT argue with me. It is done.”

Wang took a deep breath to calm himself. “Then I have no choice but to withhold payment until your portion of the bargain is complete.”

Assad’s face split into a wicked grin, revealing two pronounced canines, one gold, the other gleaming white. A small diamond, embedded in the gold one, glinted in the sunlight. He lifted his hand and the men near the trucks raised their guns, aiming them at Wang.

“This is unacceptable,” Doctor Death said.

Victor Wang assessed his situation, not at all happy with the probable outcome. He thought allowing Assad and his men to train nearby would give him an extra measure of protection, not extra headaches. He pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead, giving his guest a placatory smile.

“Of course, we can renegotiate terms,” he managed, his earlier belief in his indestructibility having now evaporated.

Assad leaned back and gestured to his men, who stood down.

“Good choice. Renegotiation includes receipt of all monies up front, with final delivery of the merchandise once evidence of drone activity is demonstrated to be nonexistent.”

Wang refrained from rolling his eyes. “And how do you think I can manage that? The drones are deployed at several thousand feet. Far higher than I am able to monitor.”

“You have friends. Use them.”

“I do not have friends in these organizations. My ‘friends,’ as you refer to them, hold government positions and are not aware of our partnership.”

“The drones must be cleared to fly, yes?”

“I suppose.” Wang wondered where he was going with his line of questioning.

“Then, it should be easy,” Assad said, spreading his hands wide. “Tell your friends that you need the information because you believe the drones are disturbing your precious animals. Demand to receive the information in writing, and then forward the response to me.” He poured himself another drink and took a long swallow. “I will view this as evidence that you are right in your assumption there is no drone activity here. Then, and only then, will I fulfill our agreement with the rest of the ivory.” He finished off the scotch and poured another.

Wang did the same, resigned to the onerous task of asking his contact in the Tanzanian government to forge a signed missive on letterhead stating the absence of drones over this part of the country. Actually requesting the letter would signal to the ruling party that there was possible poaching in his territory, thereby bringing unwanted attention. Wang tended to keep a low profile, at least with officials, bribing those that could be bought, and seeking favors only when absolutely necessary.

The little boy who had accompanied Sapphire in the shipment from Bangkok walked around the corner of the tent carrying a tray filled with sweets and savory bites. He hesitated at the bottom of the steps, waiting for permission. Victor motioned him forward and the child climbed the stairs, careful not to drop the tray. He set it on top of the table and took a step back, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Well, now, who have we here?” Assad said as he leaned forward and smiled, a calculating look on his face. He turned to Wang. “Where have you been hiding this one, eh?”

“He belongs to the whore,” Wang said, nodding toward the tent. Jaidee peeked at Assad, his attention riveted to the gleaming diamond in his gold tooth. Assad laughed and motioned the boy closer.

“Do you want to see my diamond, boy?”

Jaidee nodded and stepped forward, peering into the man’s mouth. After he’d gotten a good, long look, he backed away, consternation clear on his face.

“What’s the matter, boy? Have you never seen a rich man’s teeth before?” Assad’s laughter exploded around them. He leaned toward Wang and said in a low voice, “Give me the boy, and I will reconsider my demand for full payment.”

The curtain fluttered near the entrance to the tent, and Wang caught a glimpse of Sapphire standing in the shadows, her position concealed from the rest of the men. She shook her head, silently pleading with him to refuse.

“Take him,” he said with a shrug. “I have no need of one so young.”

Assad nodded and threw back his drink. He stood and walked over to Jaidee, who backed away, his eyes like saucers. Just before the terrorist reached the boy, Sapphire stepped through the curtain toward him. Jaidee cried out as Assad grabbed him and lifted him onto his shoulders.

“Stay where you are,” Assad said, his voice dripping menace, “or you will be my men’s entertainment for the evening.”

Sapphire stilled, her face drained of color. Assad walked down the steps to a pickup and handed Jaidee off to one of his men before climbing into the front seat.