Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller (18 page)

“We will meet again soon, my bruthah.” Assad saluted Wang and the group roared off.

Sapphire rushed across the wooden deck and clutched Wang’s arm. “You know what they do. He just a boy—” she pleaded, panic filling her voice.

Wang shrugged her off. His closed fist connected to her jaw with a resounding crack. Hand to her face, Sapphire careened backward and stumbled to the floor. She was on her feet in an instant, a grimace of pain on her face as though she expected more. Wang ignored her and picked up one of the sweets.

At least I’m not out the cash
.

“
Where the heck
is my buddy Victor?” The tall, barrel-chested man with the florid complexion and booming voice scanned the camp in search of Wang.

Ghanima bowed low in front of the camp’s new guests, as did the few trusted staff that joined her.

“Mistah Wang is come soon. He has been delayed.”

“Well, then. My wife and I are gonna need a li’l somethin’ to wet our whistles.” The man grinned at the tan, Botoxed blonde with the big hair standing behind him. “Ain’t that right, Bobbi Jo?”

“It sure is, Clarence. Come to think of it, I’m mighty parched.”

Ghanima turned to the man guarding the couple’s seven suitcases.

“You hear what the man say,” she demanded.

The porter’s eyes grew wide as Ghanima’s expression told him she meant to throw him under the bus if he didn’t deliver drinks to the couple, pronto.

“And make mine some of that Tasmanian scotch.” Clarence drew out the word Tasmanian.

“I’ll have an old fashioned,” Bobbi Jo added.             

“Go on, then. Get the man and his lady a drink.” Ghanima rolled her eyes in frustration as the ersatz bellhop scurried to the kitchen to fetch them their drinks.

Kylie watched the little drama play out through a gap between the tent walls as she peeled potatoes and carrots in the kitchen. With the exception of the women Wang kidnapped in Bangkok, most of the other “employees” at the camp had been lured into service by the promise of better jobs in another country. Once they landed in Africa, the amount they owed increased by an insurmountable percentage, essentially enslaving them in a country with no money and no passport where they didn’t understand the language. Either way, neither they nor Kylie had any hope of escape. The heavy chain around Kylie’s ankles made sure of that.

On rare occasions she’d catch a glimpse of Sapphire, noticing several new bruises on her arms and legs. Obsessed with making contact, Kylie had been caught twice when she tried to slip past Lek in an attempt to see her. Luckily, she’d established a kind of rapport with him by slipping him scraps from the kitchen, and would only receive a warning. Ghanima had been too busy with new arrivals to the camp to be concerned with where Kylie was sleeping, and Lek had conveniently forgotten to chain her to the post.

The man acting as bellhop rushed into the kitchen, panic written on his face. Kylie continued peeling carrots, ignoring his discomfort. When he realized she was the only person in the kitchen other than the guard he let loose, speaking rapid-fire Thai, his hands gesticulating wildly.

She calmly put the carrot and the peeler down and remained silent as he ranted, waiting for him to realize she didn’t understand. He ran out of steam soon enough, and Kylie slid off her chair and clanked to the pantry. Lek joined her and produced a key to open the door, revealing a fully stocked liquor cabinet.

The bellhop audibly sighed as Kylie brought out a bottle of the Tasmanian scotch, bourbon, sugar, and a small bottle of bitters. She found two highball glasses and poured the scotch, then mixed the old fashioned, adding a twist of lemon. Then she handed them both to the bellhop. The relief on his face as he took the glasses was palpable, and he gave her a grateful smile. Kylie replaced the bottles and Lek locked the cabinet.

“What you doing?” Ghanima’s voice serrated the air. Lek stiffened. Kylie winced and slowly pivoted to face her enemy. Ghanima’s eyes blazed with hatred as she advanced on Kylie. Lek stepped forward in an obvious attempt to shield her.

Ghanima looked incredulously from one to the other, hands balled into fists. Her ample chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Kylie tensed for whatever would come next.

“You
,
” she hissed. “Nothing but trouble.” She glanced at the half-peeled carrots and potatoes, and flicked her hand as though she was shooing a fly. “This girl don’t finish. Look.” She jammed her hands on her hips and shook her head, working herself into a state. Her withering glare moved to Lek, who had edged away at her advance.

“And
you,
” she said, the words dropping like lead weights between them, “know better. Mistah Wang will
not
be happy.” She then seized Kylie by the back of the neck and shoved her forward. Kylie stumbled but remained upright, struggling to take small steps so she wouldn’t trip over the chain around her ankles.

“All I did was make drinks for Mister Wang’s guests,” Kylie protested.

Ghanima cuffed the side of her head. “This girl don’t talk. Ghanima make drinks.
Not
this
stupid, clumsy girl.” With that, she gave Kylie a vicious shove. Kylie lost her balance and fell to her hands and knees, palms skidding across the sharp rocks.

“Get up!” Ghanima said, the whites of her bulging eyes visible.

Kylie stayed on her knees as she picked out the rocks embedded in her palms before scooting her feet into position to stand.

“You take too long,” Ghanima screamed, wiping the spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand.

Kylie turned in time to see the larger woman lunge at her, an eight-inch chef’s knife clutched in her hand. Kylie rolled left, lifting her hands to protect her head. Lek sprang forward and grabbed Ghanima by the arms, careful to keep himself from becoming a casualty. Ghanima struggled like an enraged bear against his grip, a stream of what could only be construed as obscenities in Swahili exploding from her mouth. Kylie scrambled to her feet and backed away from the crazy bitch, unsure what to do.

“
Go,
” Lek yelled as he fought to restrain Ghanima.

Kylie spun in place and hobbled from the kitchen.

***

“Well now, how’s my old hunting partner?”

Victor Wang, Clarence, and Bobbi Jo had just finished a sumptuous dinner of ostrich and crocodile and had retired to Wang’s personal compound for drinks and cigars. They were sitting around a large bonfire in front of the main tent, enjoying the mild evening.

After several glasses of scotch, Clarence’s complexion had grown even more florid than when he first arrived. Wang had poured drinks from what appeared to be the prized Tasmanian stock but was actually a lesser brand decanted into the esteemed bottle. He wondered whether his servant had filled the latest one he’d finished. He hoped so. His American friend didn’t understand the meaning of the word moderation.

“Business is slow, as you can see.” Victor shrugged. It pleased Clarence to think Victor was down to his last shilling and that the American’s largesse would help to save his Asian buddy from bankruptcy, so Wang played along.

Which was where his friendship with Clarence and Bobbi Jo Schneider came in. His latest shipment from Bangkok boasted several Asian tigers, one of them a prized white with blue eyes. The Schneiders would pay anything to have a white tiger at their game farm in the States.

Clarence took another long pull on his drink before he leaned forward and slapped his old pal on the back. “Well shit, Victor, then this is your lucky day!”

“And why is that?” Victor asked, a polite smile on his face. Although he could tolerate the Schneider’s company when they were sober, when drunk they left much to be desired. Even so, Bobbi Jo boasted that since she came from good Irish stock, she was able to handle even more alcohol than Clarence’s pansy-assed German relatives.

Wang shuddered at the memory of Bobbi Jo ambushing him during their annual hunting trip two years before and demanding to know what it was like to ride a “real Oriental.” Needless to say, Victor politely refused and found a much younger and more suitable partner for his inebriated guest. The next morning, she was her usual, commanding self and no more was said. He was never sure if she’d forgotten or just ignored what had transpired. Her husband tended to be an easy fix. Just give him anything with long, black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a pussy, and he was happy.

As long as Bobbi Jo never found out. The woman had a jealous streak a mile wide.

Bobbi Jo uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair, her latest enhancements threatening to pop out of her shirt.

“I’m so
bored,
honey,” she said, the faintest of slurs encroaching on her delivery.

Victor looked from Clarence to Bobbi Jo, wondering what the hell her boredom had to do with him, when Bobbi Jo put a hand on Victor’s arm and scooted her chair closer.

Oh, no.
Perspiration sprang forth from Victor Wang’s forehead at the thought of another amorous attempt from the buxom bottle blond. He tried to swallow, his throat suddenly dry.

“But how can you be bored?” he asked, looking to Clarence for assistance. His friend’s attention had shifted to one of the more lithesome staff bending over in front of him to stoke the fire, so he was no help whatsoever. “You travel the globe. You live an enviable lifestyle. Whatever you desire is yours.”

Bobbi Jo slumped back in her chair, pouting. “That’s the problem, Victor, honey. I’ve already
done
it all, seen it all. There ain’t nothin’ left.”

Victor Wang took a deep breath. He would need to tread carefully. The drinks from his earlier meeting with Doctor Death hadn’t completely worn off, and he’d supplemented with several more that evening, so he wasn’t exactly sober, either.

“But haven’t the hunts I’ve arranged for you been thrilling? What about the time you took down the black rhino? You insisted on standing your ground as he charged.” Wang slowly shook his head. “I must tell you, I thought you would die.”

Bobbi Jo rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Victor. I’m bored to death hunting game from a helicopter, even if I am on the ground when it’s time for the kill.” She sighed, a pained look in her blowsy, bloodshot eyes. “Clarence and I have been discussing our annual decision to spend such a large portion of our time and money here, and unless you can come up with something we’ve never done before, we’ve decided we’re just going to have to take our business elsewhere. I’m sure y’all understand.”

At that moment, Victor would’ve paid good money to see Bobbi Jo Schneider obliterated by the tusks of a raging bull elephant. For years Wang had gone to great lengths to find the perfect hunt for both of the spoiled Americans, always succeeding beyond their expectations. Yes, their lavish spending contributed significantly to the camp’s bottom line, and no, he couldn’t afford to anger them considering the amount of money they spent on live animals for their farm, but keeping them happy had fast become more trouble than it was worth.

This year, Victor Wang had more on his mind than entertaining a couple of good ol’ white folks whose most pressing problem was how much money to contribute to which politician in order to curry the most favors. He doubted either one would last long in the bush with only a rifle and a canteen of water, especially with Assad and his gunmen running loose. An imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the thought of the two out-of-shape Americans scrabbling up a baobab tree to avoid being flattened by a charging rhino, or the look on their faces right before one of the militants took aim.

Clarence put his hand on his wife’s arm. “Now, Bobbi Jo, don’t y’all think that’s a little harsh?” He turned to Victor, an earnest look on his face. “I think what my lovely wife means to say is, although we’ve appreciated your generosity through the years and will continue to source some of our animals through your company, we’ve come to the point in our lives that your camp jus’ ain’t enough. Know what I mean?”

“Of course.” Wang nodded his assent. Just then, the front curtain of the tent billowed slightly, offering the glimpse of Sapphire’s outline as she ghosted through the dark interior. Clarence, who was facing the same direction, noticed too, and visibly perked up.

A niggling idea began to form in Wang’s mind and grew—an idea that could conceivably eliminate two irritations at once, while keeping intact his business agreement with Clarence. He sipped his drink, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before.

“In light of your need for even more adventure,” Wang continued, “I have an idea that might be of interest to you, but will need some time to formulate the execution.” He placed his drink on the table and smiled at Bobbi Jo. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

Rashid arrived back
at Rafiki late that evening after delivering the news of Hugh’s murder to his wife. Once he’d found her another place to stay, he contacted the rest of the balloon company’s small staff to warn them not to speak to anyone asking questions about either Hugh or the company. He’d then destroyed the few personnel files that existed in case the gunmen came to do some digging to find out who they might have missed. It had been a stroke of luck for all involved that Hugh kept terrible records, preferring to pay his employees under the table.

Derek and Leine were waiting for him outside of the compound. They stored their weapons in the backseat of the pickup and joined Rashid.

“You know this is going to be a long shot, right?” Derek asked, handing him a pair of night vision goggles. “They’ve probably already moved the balloon and gotten rid of Hugh’s body.”

Rashid nodded.

“All right then,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “When we get within a couple of kilometers, put the NVGs on and turn off the lights so they don’t see us coming. At one kilometer, we’ll get out and walk.”

The dirt road fell away beneath the truck’s headlights. Wang wouldn’t want evidence of a murder committed near his camp, and he sure as hell wouldn’t want to be involved in anything that scared off tourists. Leine wasn’t sure why he sent his men to gun down an errant hot air balloon, and had expressed her concerns to Derek, who agreed. They’d both come to the conclusion that the gunmen were probably not on Wang’s payroll at all. A sobering thought, considering he was a formidable enough adversary. That, coupled with Zara’s disappearance, convinced both Leine and Derek they were dealing with someone other than Wang’s thugs.

About three kilometers out, Rashid slowed the truck and slid on the NVGs. He cut the lights and crept along the dirt road, a death grip on the steering wheel. Leine scanned the terrain with binoculars. She spotted several pairs of glowing eyes staring back at her from the bush but confirmed they belonged to a pack of hyenas.

A short while later, Rashid stopped the pickup and turned off the engine. The three of them exited the vehicle.

The African night chorus was in full symphonic resonance as they crept along the dirt road, a robust soundtrack of birds and insects, replete with an elephant trumpeting in the distance and the high-pitched song of a cheetah. As they approached the flat expanse where Hugh had landed the balloon, a low growl brought them up short and the three of them froze. Perspiration slid down the side of Leine’s face. The weight of the .45 Alma had given her wasn’t reassuring.

The growl came again, this time directly behind them, and Leine reached for her gun.

“Don’t move,” Derek whispered. Leine stilled.

The breeze rustled the grass, fluttering her hair. They were downwind. Leine wondered if the animal was close. Her breathing shallow, she blinked the sweat from her eyes, hoping this wasn’t the end, the big dirt nap, her last hurrah. Too many things she wanted to do. Being ripped to shreds by a lion or leopard didn’t seem like the best way to go. No, lying in bed with Santa, arms and legs entwined after some amazing sex and a great meal would be more her style.

How her life had changed.

Several moments passed before Derek slowly turned.

“It’s gone,” he said, and Leine and Rashid both exhaled.

Leine checked at the weakness in her knees and shook it off.

“Are you sure?” Rashid asked, his voice an octave higher than normal.

“Yeh. That was a close one.” Derek shrugged. “Must not have liked the way we smelled.”

They resumed walking, the three of them hyper attentive to their surroundings. They approached the area where Hugh had landed the balloon, but both the basket and the balloon were gone, a patch of flattened grass the only evidence anything had been there. Rashid refused to accept that his mentor and friend had been taken and continued to hunt for his body.

A short while later Derek muttered, “He’s had enough time. We need to go.”

“Let’s give him a little longer,” Leine said. “If we stop him now, he might not be satisfied and may try to come back.”

“All right. But no more than a few minutes,
ja
? I don’t want to be here if those gunmen decide to come back.”

“Agreed.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Less than five minutes later Rashid stopped in the middle of the clearing. His shoulders slumped forward as he slipped off the NVGs and hung his head. Leine waited a few beats and then walked over to him.

“Hey,” she said gently. “We need to go. I’m sorry he wasn’t here.”

Tears glistened on Rashid’s cheeks. He nodded and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I will miss him very much.”

They turned and walked back to the pickup. Rashid slid on the NVGs and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“You remember where you’re going to meet us, yeh?” Derek asked.

Rashid nodded. “Yes. I will be there.”

“Good,” he said, and checked his watch. “See you in a couple of hours.”

Leine and Derek set off at a brisk pace toward Wang’s camp, slowing when they came to the perimeter. Derek handed Leine a radio, keeping one for himself. She keyed the mic and lowered the volume, then slipped it into her pocket.

“Meet you on the other side,” she murmured and set off in the opposite direction.

There wasn’t much activity in the central meeting area; the last embers of a campfire glowed red in a metal ring. Leine checked her watch: 02:35. That gave them plenty of time for reconnaissance. She doubted many staff would be up before dawn.

A man wearing fatigues and carrying a rifle walked past, and Leine melted into the shadows. The uniform and weapon didn’t match the ones from before, giving her more proof that it hadn’t been Wang’s people that shot and killed Hugh. Alma had said something about the militants who’d taken Zara being outfitted with new vehicles and weapons, something most armies in the area would be hard pressed to do.

She supposed Wang could be funding them, but being a party to murdering Hugh still didn’t feel right, didn’t seem like something Wang would risk. Why put his camp and everything he’d worked for in danger by offing a local whose main business was taking tourists for balloon rides?

Leine made her way past the main section of the compound and what appeared to be guest tents, following along the perimeter to the group of brightly colored tents she’d seen from the air.

Her best bet for finding Wang.