Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller

by D. V. Berkom

  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.
r />   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.”

  “Any lights?”

  “None that I can think of.”

  “Good. I’ll climb onto the roof, see if I can take out the shooter in front, then come at the guy in back.”

  “It’s gonna be slick.” The wind outside howled as if to punctuate his words.

  “Tile?”

  “Composite. Only looks like tile, but bad enough.”

  “I’ll just have to contend with the wind and driving rain, right?” Leine scanned the closet. She spotted a dark-blue windbreaker and reached for it. She turned to Derek. “You mind if I take this?”

  He shook his head. “Be my guest. The bottom half’s behind it.” He picked up the canvas bag and slung a second rifle and both MP5s over his shoulder. “I’ll run a torch near the windows in a couple of the rooms at the other end to get the shooter’s attention. Should give you enough time to set up.”

  “Good. Give me a few minutes before you start to work your way to the Rover. I’ll need you to draw the guy out. He’ll give away his position when he shoots. Should be easy to spot with the scope.”

  “Yeh. Easy.” Derek shook his head. “Like I said, I’m not comfortable being prey.”

  “Consider it a training exercise.”

  Leine shrugged into the windbreaker and pants, slung the rifle over her shoulder, and moved to the master bedroom. She slipped the hood over her head and opened the glass door, ignoring the wind and driving rain.

  CHAPTER 20

  NO FIRE CAME at her from either direction. Leine assumed the shooter wasn’t covering her side of the house. The acacia tree was as large as Derek had said and obscured the view from the front. The rear of the house hid the balcony from most of the backyard. She slung the M21 over her shoulder and climbed onto the railing, then turned and faced the house, leaning her head back to gauge the distance to the edge of the roof.

  A burst of gunfire erupted near the front, followed by the sound of Derek returning fire from an upstairs window. She flexed her legs and jumped, hooking both hands onto the edge of the eaves, her lower body dangling in space. Derek had been right about how slick it would be. She lost her grip with her right hand and for one heart-stopping moment thought she was going to fall.

  Leine managed to grasp the edge of the roof with her fingertips, securing her position. She kicked until she was able to hook her heel over the eaves and then pulled herself up and over. Lightning pulsed overhead, followed a few seconds later by the deep rumble of thunder.

  Pausing to take a breath, Leine worked to slow her galloping heart. Sporadic gunfire continued in the front, blending with the thunder. She lifted her head and scanned the area. The roof had three sections. The left and right sides jutted out like wings, giving her good cover from a majority of the backyard, although she would be exposed, briefly, when she moved into position.

  With a deep inhale, she low-crawled to the apex of the roof, expecting to feel the hot bite of a bullet with each meter gained, or, alternatively, the hair-raising buzz and crack of a lightning strike. The storm hadn’t yet washed away the dirt and dust on Derek’s roof. The resulting slurry made progress even more challenging.

  She reached the top and removed the rifle, then released the bipod, setting it up so only the tip of the barrel cleared the roofline. She lay on her stomach, flipped up the front and rear dust covers on the scope and sighted on the house across the street. Her body relaxed into the most efficient position naturally, as though it hadn’t been years since she’d done this. Muscle memory was a powerful thing, especially after spending hours upon hours learning a specific weapon.

  Part of her missed the familiarity. This was something she was good at.

  Leine scanned the area across the street through the night scope, pausing at the positions she might have chosen, but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She wondered where the police were, or if anyone had called them. The neighbors had probably confused the crack of gunfire with the sound of the storm.

  She kept coming back to a dark area near the house
across the street. All she could make out at first were two garbage bins. She scanned the bushes next to them.

  A shadow near one of the bins moved. A man in a dark shirt and pants broke away from the house and headed across the street in a crouch, a machine gun in both hands.

  Leine inhaled and seated her cheek securely against the pad on the butt stock of the gun. Sighting just above his shoulders, she released her breath and squeezed the trigger. The man’s head snapped back, and he dropped where he stood.

  One down, one to go.

  Leine closed the dust covers on the scope and rolled onto her back, taking the rifle with her. She pitched forward and headed for the section of roof over the entryway at the back of the house. The rain was falling harder now and obscuring her view. Traversing the muddy, synthetic tiles in heavy wind was an exercise in balance and calculation. Purported to be all-terrain, she doubted the manufacturers of her footwear had this particular scenario in mind when they wrote the advertising copy. She stopped to assess her position but at that moment a strong gust of wind pushed through and she lost her footing, landing with a thud on the rifle stock.

  She picked herself up and slung the weapon back into place, wondering how badly the fall had screwed with the rifle’s accuracy but unable to stop to find out. In minutes, Derek would be a target.

  If he wasn’t already.

  Leine dropped to her belly and crawled to the tip of the roof closest to the back entrance. She set up, wiped the rain off the scope and peered through the downpour, searching for the second gunman.

  Nothing.

  This time she didn’t have a feeling one way or another. There were only a couple of positions she would have taken if she were the shooter, and there wasn’t anyone visible in either.

  Had he gone into the house? Was Derek inside, right now, fighting the second shooter? She listened for gunfire below her but heard nothing. Leine continued to scan the area, searching for some kind of tell.

  There.