The man stared at him, befuddled. He shook his head and left the room without saying a word. That seemed kinda rude, Jackson thought. Not like the people he’d met so far. He was keenly aware that his American accent instantly set him apart from the people he encountered. He heard steps approaching. A middle-aged, portly man in a gray suit and white shirt entered, his round, fleshy face shiny with sweat.
“I’m the minister,” he said. “You need help?”
“Yes, I’m Earle Jackson from America, and I’m looking for the family of Okeyo Abasi.”
The minister looked him up and down, then stroked his nonexistent beard.
“Hmm, Okeyo Abasi. Sorry, I don’t know that name. Not a member of this church. Don’t you have more information?”
“No, all I have is Kibera, Nairobi.”
“You will be looking for a long time. There are so many people here. Sorry, I can’t help you.”
That response became the refrain for the rest of the day. He checked the YMCA, the Church of God, Christ the King, Turning Point Church, Changing Times Church, the World Fellowship Church, the Laini Saba Mosque, and another mosque whose name he never found out. It was a tiring job, what with his jet lag and all. The stink of the open sewers everywhere didn’t help. He had to choose his steps carefully. There were plenty of little shops that sold soft drinks and food. He had no clue what to eat, so he got a few bags of peanuts and chips.
Corrugated metal sheets were the preferred construction material, giving Kibera a rusty color. He couldn’t figure out if it was the dust or if the metal was really rusting.
Around six, the sun began to set. He found his way back to the YMCA and asked for a room. They didn’t have rooms, but they did have a public toilet and ablution shed that was well kept. He paid a few shillings to use the facilities before finding his way to a guesthouse the Y clerk had recommended.
The guesthouse was a combination of repurposed shipping containers and more corrugated iron. It looked like a heap about to collapse. The hand-painted sign under a single light bulb promised first-class rooms. Jackson was too tired to laugh about that. It was run by a tall woman who had the darkest skin he’d ever seen. It had a bluish hue.
“Welcome, you need a bed?”
“Yes, please.”
“You’re not from Kenya?”
“No, America.”
“Nice. We sometimes have guests from America. Are you a student?”
“No, I’m looking for someone.”
“You come all the way from America to look for someone?”
“Yes.” Jackson knew how crazy it sounded.
“I have a good bed for you. Seventeen hundred shilling.”
Jackson thought that was expensive, almost twenty bucks. But then, he was probably paying the tourist rate. He expected other lodgers, but he seemed to be the only one. The inside of the guesthouse was as clean as one could get a place with rammed dirt floors. The woman obviously took care of her establishment. She led him to an alcove, its entrance covered by a curtain. He looked inside and found a clean bed that looked comfortable.
“Would you like food or a drink?” the woman said.
“Yes to both. What do you have?”
“Nyama choma and chang’aa.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Goat stew and moonshine. I make everything myself. Slaughtered the goat just yesterday, and my chang’aa is the best. Traditional recipe from my grandmother. Not the terrible stuff they make elsewhere and bring in. I only use good ingredients—no chemicals or jet fuel.”
He couldn’t even imagine why people would drink booze with jet fuel.
“What does chang’aa mean?”
The woman smiled.
“ ‘Kill me quick.’ But it’s good. I have a business; I don’t want my customers to die.”
It wasn’t what he’d call a ringing endorsement, but he put his bag on the bed and followed the woman to another room at the end of the compound, a combination bar and restaurant. Five older men sat at two tables and drank a clear liquid from water glasses. She stepped behind a counter made of scrap pallet wood and took another glass from a shelf. On the counter stood a large bottle. She filled the glass halfway. He smelled it. The harsh fumes of alcohol burned in his nostrils. He hesitated a moment, but then thought, What the hell? and poured the drink down his throat.
This was no Hennessy. It took his breath away. He coughed, sputtered, his eyes watered. A line of fire cauterized his gullet all the way to his stomach.
The woman laughed. So did the men. It broke the silence his entry had provoked.
“It’s strong, yes?” she said.
Tears running down his cheeks, he nodded. “Yes, it’s strong.”
“How about the nyama choma?” she said.
“Okay. It can’t be worse than the liquor.”
The men liked his comeback and laughed again. The owner left to get the food. Jackson sat down at the counter. He was beat. Searching for a needle in a haystack, that’s what he’d been doing. And he was tired of it. He’d given it a shot. It hadn’t worked out. Time to think about going home. He turned to look at the other patrons. Okay, one last try.
“Evenin’ folks,” he said. “I’m looking for the family of Okeyo Abasi. Do any of you know him?”
“Okeyo who went to America?” a man at the far table said.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Camille Delano’s phone rang. The display said ‘Private.’ That could only mean two things. Someone misdialed, or it was a call from the top. The chances for the former were slim, so she’d better not ignore the call.
The familiar male voice came straight to the point. “The Vienna operation backfired.”
“How so?” She breathed a little easier. Someone else was responsible for that mess.
“The subject, Vermeulen, confronted Kurtz.”
“How did he manage that?”
“We assume he found our source at the UN, saw Popescu, and followed him to his rendezvous with Kurtz.”
“That sounds like him.” She had to admit to a grudging admiration. Vermeulen turned out to be far more effective than she had assumed.
“We need to eliminate him. He knows too much,” the voice said.
“I agree.”
“The question is where. In Vienna it will cause too much attention. Can you deal with him when he comes back?”
She didn’t like that suggestion at all. “We can’t afford to wait that long. He’s dangerous right now. We don’t even know when he’ll come back.”
“That’s correct. But there are other issues at stake. As you know, Kurtz is a public figure in Vienna. Vermeulen has met him. If the man turns up dead, the police will ask questions. Someone’s bound to have seen the two together. Kurtz can’t afford that kind of scrutiny.”
“And I can?” Dump the dirty work on me, she thought. Typical.
“You aren’t nearly as exposed as Kurtz is. You don’t have to maintain that kind of public persona. So, yes, you could stand more scrutiny.”
“What about the time factor? What if he stays in Vienna and investigates more? Besides, I have Jackson to deal with here. He’s disappeared again.”
“We know that Vermeulen’s only got a week’s leave. If his daughter recovers, he’ll be coming back shortly. If not, we’ll deal with it then.”
“Any progress on the special order?” she said.
“It’s been relayed to Nairobi. Vienna doesn’t have such detailed data on candidates. Keep your phone nearby.”
“Good,” she said. Although it was far from good. The reason her operation functioned so smoothly was that everybody involved got something out of it. That kept them from rocking the boat. Then management started to push for higher numbers, and things went south. Like that UN visa scam. Yes, it was easier than forging papers to get people into the U.S., but the likelihood of discovery also increased. Usually, the ones who got caught were deported. Abasi’s death had been a real disaster.
Disposing of Vermeulen would only cause more attention. Her crew wasn’t good enough to deal with that. They were good at bullying people who didn’t know better, but they didn’t know how to deal with people who stood up to them. The way Gergi and Andrej had underestimated Jackson was exhibit A of their record of incompetence. She couldn’t send these jokers after Vermeulen. And they were the most reliable. No, she’d have to take on Vermeulen herself. And the more she knew about him, the more that prospect worried her.
* * *
Vermeulen was back in Gaby’s room. He’d taken the necessary steps to make sure he wasn’t followed, including switching subways at the last minute, diving into the massive Gerngross department store, leaving via the employee exit, and taking two cabs back to the clinic. Since Marieke had insisted on covering the night shift, Tessa was still sitting with Gaby.
She beamed when he came in. “Gaby moved. On her own account. About three hours ago. She turned and mumbled something.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Vermeulen said.
“I didn’t know where you were; it might have caused problems.”
He knew she was right. Still, it irked him.
“What does the doctor say?”
“She says it’s a very good sign. The longer someone stays in a coma, the greater the chance of brain damage. It’s been six days, and that’s still within the realm of full recovery. Of course, nobody knows if any vital parts got injured.”
He stepped to the bed and took Gaby’s hand. It felt soft and warm. Her face remained still. There was no sign she felt his touch. Just the slow rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out.
“Did you tell Marieke?” he said.
“I’ve decided to wait. She’s asleep right now. She needs the rest.”
“You’re treading on dangerous ground. She won’t forget that you didn’t tell her.”
“Oh, come on. You’re exaggerating.”
“Trust me. I know her.”
Tessa just shook her head. “What did you find out?” she said.
“Just as I thought. The executive assistant of the head of the UNEP here was pressured by her no-good son into getting these letters signed. The good news is that she was to deliver a batch today. I followed her contact, who was the same man I saw at the hospital, and met the boss.”
Tessa sat up with a start. “You what?”
“I met the local boss. A dapper gentleman in a trench coat and fedora. He calls himself Schmidt.”
“What did you talk about?”
“We took a ride on the Ferris wheel. He told me that they were helping people. Even invoked the movie The Third Man to show how much good they were doing.”
“Did he explain what their operation was all about?”
“No, he didn’t. But he did offer me a bribe.”
“And you didn’t accept?” Tessa smiled.
“Of course not. And then, just like the Broker, he threatened to kill me.”
“You seem remarkably calm for someone who’s got a penchant for bringing out the worst in crooks.”
“I do have to take precautions. It took me almost two hours to get back here. But I’m not too worried. They can’t attract too much attention. Their network depends on the silence of everyone involved.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t try to get rid of you.”
“I’ll just have to get to them first.”
She frowned. “And how are you going to do that? Schmidt is about as common a name as you can find here.”
“There was a photographer by the Ferris wheel. He takes photos of everyone exiting the cars and then harasses them until they buy a picture. They told him to bug off in no uncertain terms. I doubled back after I lost them and paid him way too much money. He insisted that I should come back for the framed print, but emailed me the digital version.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Here is your Mr. Schmidt.”
“You’re right, he does look dapper.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Getting from Mr. Schmidt’s photograph to his real name and address turned out to be easier than they thought. Tessa uploaded the photo and did a reverse image search on her laptop. A few seconds later, they saw many images of the same man and the search engine’s best guess that the photograph depicted a Mr. Kurtz. More searching revealed that Mr. Kurtz was well connected in Vienna and served as director of some kind of outreach program of the UN Office in Vienna that brought in students for internships. More importantly, the two located his home in the Währing district.
“I should go there,” Vermeulen said.
“And do what?”
“I don’t know, keep tabs on him. Know where he goes?”
“You’ll need a car for that. And it’s dark.”
“I can rent a car, and dark means I won’t stick out sitting outside his house.”
“And just sit there?” She shook her head.
“I’ve interrupted their routine. They’ve got to be nervous, running around and tying up loose ends. Look at Kurtz. He seems pretty prominent. Which means he’s got a lot to hide.”
“Yes, but will he do it at his house? I don’t think so. You’ll end up sitting outside until the police get wise to you and ask what you’re doing there.”
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take. If they really are into human trafficking, they’ve got to stash the people somewhere. Now that I rattled their cage, they’ll have to do something with them.”
“Good point, but I don’t see how sitting outside his house will help you find them.”
“You could come with me and we could catch up.”
Tessa grinned. “You are crazy, you know that? I need some rest. Sitting here all day is tiring. The last thing I need is sitting in a car all night.”
He gave her a playful punch in the shoulder. “Oh, come on. At least we’ll be together. It’s the only thing I can think of doing. And I’ve got to do something. Can you find me a car rental close by?”
Tessa tapped some more on her laptop. “Here’s one that brings the car to you.”
Vermeulen dialed the number. Ten minutes later, after reciting driver’s license and passport numbers, he hung up.
“All set. Once Marieke starts her night shift, we’ll go for a ride.”
There was a rustling from the bed. Both of their heads spun toward Gaby. Her left arm moved. Her hand reached for her head. Her eyelids fluttered. She opened her mouth. Some incomprehensible sounds emerged. Spittle ran from a corner. Then the hand fell back on the bed.
“Gaby, can you hear me?” Vermeulen shouted.
He ran to her side.
“Gaby, are you awake?”
Her eyelids fluttered again, then stayed open. Her eyes looked vacant, unfocused. She breathed heavily, almost like a sigh.
“Gaby,” Tessa said from the other side of the bed. “Are you coming back to us?”
Gaby uttered more sounds. They didn’t amount to words. She turned her head toward Tessa and her eyes focused on her. A bare hint of a smile appeared on her face. Vermeulen felt a momentary twinge of jealousy but banished it immediately. He reached for her hand and stroked it. Gaby reacted by turning toward him. She still looked confused. She closed her eyes again. Vermeulen reached for a tissue and dabbed the spittle from her chin. Gaby didn’t react. Her breathing calmed again.
Tessa had pushed the call button, and a nurse appeared at the door.
“I think she’s coming to,” Tessa said.
“Yes,” Vermeulen added. “She opened her eyes, looked at us, and mumbled something.”
“Good,” the nurse said. “Very good. The time frame is about right. But don’t get your hopes up yet. It will still be a while.”
“A while until what?” Marieke’s voice came from the door.
“A while until she is fully awake,” the nurse said. “Recovery from a coma takes time. Nobody just pops up and is back to normal. It could take a week, even a month.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t take that long,”
Vermeulen said.
“Why?” Marieke said from the door. “You got some place to be?”
Much to Vermeulen’s relief, the nurse answered, “The sooner she recovers, the better are her chances of not having lasting problems.”
They parked half a block away from Kurtz’s address on a quiet street. Währing was definitely an upscale district. No five-story buildings here. Generous villas lined the streets. There were tall trees everywhere. The district exuded a quiet gentility. Before they approached Kurtz’s house, Tessa again pointed out that sitting in a car surveilling a house would attract attention. But it turned out there were enough cars parked on the street that one more wasn’t noteworthy.
They’d barely settled in for what could have been a boring, long night when a white Audi A6 drove up to the Kurtz house. A man got out. In the bright cone of the streetlight, Vermeulen recognized him right away.
“That’s Popescu. He left the note in Gaby’s hand and took the letters from Frau Waldmüller.”
Popescu turned up the collar of his black leather jacket and walked to the door. He rang a bell and disappeared inside moments later. Whatever message he had to convey was short. He came out again and got into the car. But he didn’t drive away. The Audi just sat there, condensation from the exhaust wafting up to the night sky.
Ten minutes later, Kurtz emerged from the house. He’d switched from the trench coat to a woolen one and wore his fedora. Kurtz got into the rear of the Audi and they drove away.
Vermeulen started the car and eased into the street. Only when Popescu had turned onto a busier street did Vermeulen switch on his headlights. He followed the Audi, keeping far back so as not to arouse suspicion. Fortunately their rental, a Fiat, was a common enough car on the street.
Popescu wove his way through the quiet streets until he reached the beltway that separated the suburbs from the interior districts that make up old Vienna. True to its name, the beltway consisted of a four-lane boulevard divided by light rail tracks and a wide greenbelt. Everything was well lit, so Vermeulen dropped back.
The farther south they drove, the busier the road became. The traffic lights were synchronized, which meant Vermeulen couldn’t afford to fall too far behind, or he’d get stuck at an intersection and lose the Audi. He pulled up closer. Despite his best efforts, they were caught by red lights just as they passed the Westbahnhof, one of the two major railway stations of Vienna. With cabs darting in and out of traffic, it was impossible to keep up.
Illicit Trade Page 15
