Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller

by D. V. Berkom

  “Okay, fine. I deserved that.” Santa chuckled. “God, it’s good to hear your voice. This being apart is no bueno.”

  “Agreed. Have you ever been to Tanzania? It’s an amazing place, even given the circumstances. And heart wrenching.”

  “Haven’t had the pleasure. Why heart wrenching?”

  “We rolled up on an elephant massacre today. They used machine guns. Mowed down an entire family just for the ivory.”

  “That had to be hard to see,” Santa said. “Sorry, L.”

  “Rumor has it terrorists are behind it. All to fund a jihad doomed to failure. What a waste.”

  “Yeah.” Santa paused a few beats. “Just so we’re clear, you’re not thinking about going after the jihadists, right?”

  Leine almost burst out laughing. “No, Santa. I’m here to find Kylie. Nothing more.”

  “Okay, good.” The relief in Santa’s voice was palpable. Leine smiled.

  “I love you, Santiago Jensen. Remember that.”

  “I love you, too, Leine Basso. Come home soon.”

  Leine ended the call and returned the phone. She walked back to the fire, thinking about Santa and her daughter, missing her life.

  CHAPTER 26

  KYLIE FINISHED DRYING the last kettle and placed it behind the curtained cupboard in the tent that served as the kitchen. It was late, and the guests had all retired for the evening except the owner and his friend, who, rumor had it, was a billionaire with a capital B.

  The camp was luxurious. The guest’s quarters had been erected on top of wooden platforms and each had its own en suite. The sheets, which Kylie helped wash, were high thread count and the nicest she’d ever seen. One tent was dedicated to wine, with two temperature-controlled chillers—one for red, one for white. Guests had their choice of high-end liquor and Cuban cigars, dined on fine china, and drank from delicate crystal. Everything Kylie and the rest of the workers did was behind the scenes. They were warned to never show themselves—obviously to reduce the possibility of any of them seeking help, either by escaping or sending a message to a family member.

  Earlier in the evening, Kylie had been asked by another worker to deliver a bottle of wine to the two men sitting at the blazing campfire, sipping cognac and smoking cigars while they talked. The owner, a well-dressed Chinese man named Victor Wang, had become angry and grabbed Kylie by the arm, dragging her back behind the kitchen to where Ghanima, head of the kitchen staff, was prepping for the next day. Wang screamed at the woman to keep her staff away from the guests, making Kylie a new enemy. In retaliation, Ghanima put Kylie on pots and pans duty, and gave her the most arduous chores she could find.

  At first, Kylie had been relieved to be assigned domestic duty when she arrived at the camp rather than being put into service in other ways. But that relief was short-lived. From sunup to sundown, she worked until her fingers bled and her vision blurred; otherwise she risked painful retribution. Punishment could take many forms, from having her ration of food taken away to actual flogging, depending on the infraction. The first time she witnessed someone tied to a tree and beaten, Kylie had to stop herself from running at the person holding the whip. The prison camp, as most of the workers referred to the place, was an unrelenting Groundhog Day. Only things didn’t get better like in the movie. They got worse.

  Kylie untied her apron and hung it on a hook next to the massive grill. That night guests had feasted on gazelle, water buffalo, and rhino, although Kylie was pretty sure the last dish was considered an endangered species. Although tempted, she didn’t bring up the legality of serving something about to go extinct. Ghanima would be only too happy to have a reason to tie her to a tree and slice her back to bloody strips.

  At least the nights weren’t cold. Most of the women were locked in a hut, crowded together until morning with only a thin blanket between them and the uncompromising dirt floor. The crowded conditions acted as efficient insulation, although this time of year was warm, even in the evenings. The other people in the hut gave Kylie some comfort every time she heard a lion’s roar or screaming baboons. No way would she venture into the dark alone. The wilderness around them was an effective escape deterrent, at least for Kylie.

  There were other dangers. One night Kylie had awoken to a hand over her mouth as one of the male laborers, who wasn’t even supposed to be inside the hut, tried to take off her clothing. Terrified, Kylie had reacted by kicking him in the groin as hard as she could. The next day, the man was nowhere to be found. Kylie didn’t ask where he’d gone. Now, she rarely slept more than a few minutes at a time.

  She signaled to the guard that she was ready to go and started down the wooden path toward the sleeping hut, with him following close behind. They passed a newly built enclosure, and Kylie ran her hand along the solid wood walls. Strange sounds could occasionally be heard behind the fence, but it was hard to tell what they were.

  Kylie had been at the camp long enough for the mental cotton of self-delusion to wear off. Each day she clawed through the despair and depression now taking its place, trying to keep the tiniest thread of hope alive. But there was no one to go to for help; no cops, no lawyers, no recourse, and the illusion of seeing her mother’s friend, Leine, on the ship was just that—an illusion. One man ruled this small corner of the world, and did so without regard to its inhabitants. Before, she couldn’t imagine a place this miserable.

  She could now.

  ***

  After breakfast dishes the next morning, Ubaya, the guard assigned to the kitchen, ordered Kylie to gather together a box of food and several containers of water and take them to the new enclosure. Eager to see more of the camp, Kylie piled the provisions on top of a small cart and set off along the gravel path. Another guard named Lek followed behind her.

  The walls were several feet high and made of rough, dark wood. Kylie followed the wall, eventually arriving at a barred, metal gate secured with a padlock. On the other side of the bars was an arena with a straw-covered dirt floor. Lek produced a ring of keys and unlocked the gate, allowing Kylie through.

  “Don’t take too long,” he warned. “I’ll be right outside.” Unassisted, Kylie muscled the cart inside, and he swung the gate closed.

  A young woman with long, dark hair sat on the straw in the middle of the arena, surrounded by five or six lion cubs, all vying for her attention. The woman held something up with her hand and they tumbled over themselves trying to be the first to get at whatever it was.

  Forgetting herself for the moment, Kylie giggled at the cubs’ antics. The young woman turned toward her at the noise. Kylie smiled. The woman gave each cub something to eat before she climbed to her feet and walked over.

  “I didn’t think they let anyone walk freely here,” she said.

  “They don’t. A guard is outside.” Kylie waved at the supplies on the cart. “Where would you like these?”

  “Over there is fine.” The woman nodded toward a small enclosure. She helped Kylie roll the cart closer, and started to unload the items.

  “The cubs are adorable,” Kylie said. “What will happen to them?”

  The woman stiffened and turned away, wiping at her eyes.

  Kylie’s insides twisted at her reaction. She put down the bag of rice she was holding and offered her hand. “I’m Kylie.”

  The other woman gave her a wary smile as she shook it and answered, “Zara.”

  “Do they ever let you out of here?” Kylie assumed Zara was a prisoner like herself but refrained from mentioning it.

  “They let me out at night.” She looked down at her bare feet. “But I can only walk freely while I’m in here. They wrap my ankles in heavy chains otherwise.”

  “Where are you from?”

  The ghost of a smile crossed Zara’s lips. “I was working at a wildlife conservation center before…before I was brought here. We took care of sick and abandoned wildlife, reintroducing them into the wild when we could.”

  “That’s so cool. Did you get to work with babies like yo
u do here?” Kylie asked, nodding at the lion cubs.

  “Yes.” Zara turned to watch them play fighting with each other.

  “Will they let those little guys go, too?” She couldn’t help asking, even though Zara’s initial reaction suggested the answer wasn’t good.

  “He says he will, but I don’t think so.”

  “You mean Victor Wang?” Kylie asked. One of the cubs crouched low, preparing to attack a piece of straw sticking up out of the ground.

  Zara nodded. “Wang’s only interested in money. Rafiki, the center I worked for, relied solely on donations, and even then we had to cut corners. Wildlife rehabilitation is not a money-making enterprise.” She cocked her head. “Where are you from?”

  “California.” Kylie’s chest contracted. Home.

  The gate clanked open, and Lek poked his head in. “Hurry up,” he said, his annoyance obvious.

  “Almost finished,” Zara called. She and Kylie quickly put away the rest of the supplies.

  “I hope I can come back to see you,” Kylie said.

  “Me too.”

  Kylie wheeled the cart to where Lek waited. He locked the gate behind them and followed her back to the kitchen area. Ghanima was waiting for them. The expression on the older woman’s face told Kylie she wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around Kylie’s neck and squeeze until the breath left her body. Ubaya stood behind her, a smug look on his face.

  His manipulation was clear. Lek lost no time hustling out of the tent. Kylie’s stomach did a flip at his abandonment, and she lowered her gaze to the ground, hoping her look of contrition would help to alleviate her punishment.

  “Who give you permission to leave?” Ghanima’s voice shook with suppressed rage.

  “He did.” Kylie glanced at the man standing behind her accuser. Ubaya glared at her, his eyes resembling two black holes.

  Ghanima stepped forward and gripped Kylie by the arm.

  “You not take orders from anyone but me. Ever,” she said, her voice dripping menace. “Come.” She yanked Kylie after her and Ubaya followed.

  They walked past the outskirts of the camp to another, smaller section of tents. The main camp may have been beautiful, but this was extraordinary.

  Three large, colorful canvas tents with rich, dark wood floors stood at the center of a clearing. A small grouping of curtained huts about the size of beach cabanas were scattered throughout, each with two or three comfortable-looking chairs in front, grouped around a raised fire pit. Discreet solar lighting hugged several of the trees, and a soothing fountain bubbled in the background.

  Ghanima shoved Kylie up the steps of the largest tent, stopping just outside of the entrance. Deep, rich Persian rugs covered the floors.

  “Mistah Wang. It is Ghanima from the kitchen.”

  The older woman was breathing heavily from the forced march and perspiration slid down her face and onto her neck. Kylie lowered her gaze to the ground, not wanting to court her wrath. The two women waited while Ubaya stood sentry a few feet away. There was movement inside the tent, and a few moments later Victor Wang appeared wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe with a large W embroidered in black across the chest.

  “What is it?” he asked, his tone conveying his unhappiness at being disturbed.

  Ghanima bowed and lowered her gaze. “Mistah Wang, please forgive me for bothering, but this girl” —she nodded at Kylie— “is bad trouble. This girl no listen to what Ghanima say and go wherever she want. Ghanima ask permission to punish this girl.”

  Wang studied Kylie for a moment, sucking on his teeth as he did so. “Maybe she’ll listen when you put the chains on her.”

  Ghanima smiled and nodded, her gaze still lowered. “Yes, sir, Mistah Wang. Beg pardon, but can Ghanima ask one more favor?”

  Wang sighed. “And that is?”

  “Ghanima would like to stake this girl.”

  “As long as it doesn’t interfere with running the camp, you can. Now, leave.” Wang walked inside the tent and pulled back the curtain surrounding the bed. Sapphire was lying on her side, and their gazes met. Kylie blinked in surprise at the woman who had been with her in the cell in Bangkok. Before Kylie could say anything, Ghanima gripped her by the arm and dragged her off the platform and down the stairs, headed back to the main camp.

  CHAPTER 27

  LEINE WALKED TO the outdoor cooking area and helped herself to a cup of hot coffee. Alma was back from feeding “her babies” and was in the process of making breakfast for everyone.

  “How’d you sleep?” she asked Leine as she poured scrambled eggs into a hot skillet.

  “Very well, thanks. Your beds sure beat the Rover.”

  Alma chuckled. “Ain’t it the truth? Good mattresses were the first things I made sure we had here, once we built the pens.” She turned, wiping her hands on a towel. “A miserable night’s sleep and aching back don’t help when you need to take care of things.”

  Derek appeared, looking well rested. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at the counter separating the cooking facilities from the eating area.

  “Where’s Hattie?” he asked.

  “She’s up at the main building, talking to Captain Hugh and checking in supplies.”

  “Captain Hugh?” Leine took a sip of coffee and glanced toward the big building.

  Alma scooped up the partially scrambled eggs and flipped them over. “Captain Hugh’s been delivering supplies to us since the beginning. He runs a hot air balloon company outside of the park. Takes visitors on the ride of a lifetime, from what I hear.”

  “You haven’t gone?” Leine asked.

  Alma shook her head and chuckled. “Not me. I’m a big chicken when it comes to heights.”

  Just then, Hattie walked out of the main building and headed down the path toward them. A man dressed in a long-sleeved shirt, cargo pants, and a bush hat followed her to where the others were sitting.

  “You must be Captain Hugh,” Derek said when the two reached the counter. “I’m Derek, and this is Claire.”

  “Guilty.” Captain Hugh smiled and shook Derek’s hand, then did the same with Leine. “Good to meet you.”

  Leine could’ve sworn his sky-blue eyes twinkled. A few inches taller than Leine, the affable pilot’s calloused hands and broad shoulders suggested someone who worked physically for a living.

  “Along with the feed you ordered, I left batteries, milk, a case of your favorite beer, and some chocolate up there.” He felt his pockets and pulled out a handwritten list, placing it on the counter in front of Alma.

  “Thank you, Hugh. I appreciate it. Can you stay for breakfast?”

  Hugh’s face lit up. “Why, yes, ma’am. Be happy to.”

  During breakfast, Hugh regaled them with stories of flying his balloon over the Serengeti with all types of passengers, from a retired director of the NSA to a wizened Italian mobster who wanted to commemorate his ninetieth birthday.

  “I was sweating bullets on that flight, let me tell you,” he said with a shake of his head. “I didn’t want la cosa nostra paying me a visit because I damaged their capo.”

  “How did you get a ninety-year-old into the basket?” Hattie asked. “I mean, he couldn’t have been that spry, right?”

  “There was a big, muscle-bound dude with him who picked him up and set him inside. The guy handled the old man like he was a baby chick. He was right there when we landed, too.” Hugh finished his plate of eggs and pushed away from the table. Holding his coffee with both hands, he leaned back in his chair. “Besides visiting Alma and Hattie, what are you two doing here?” he asked, nodding at Leine and Derek.

  “We’re looking for someone we think is staying at a temporary hunting camp near here,” Derek answered. “Have you seen anything like that on your flights?”

  Hugh considered his question and shook his head. “I don’t normally fly this area. The only camps I know of are the ones that have been here for years. What’s the owner’s name?”

  “Victor Wang,” Leine said.


  Hugh glanced at Alma. “I wasn’t aware he’d come this far north.”

  “You know him?” Derek asked.

  “Everybody knows Victor Wang. He’s the king of canned hunts. If it wasn’t for the politicians in his pocket, he’d have been run out of Tanzania by responsible hunting groups years ago.”

  “Canned hunts?” Leine asked.

  Derek cleared his throat. “Ja, ja, that’s where the hunters and the animals are contained in a small pen.”

  “You said hunters, with an S.”

  Hugh nodded. “There’s usually more than one, and that’s with charging thirty-five thousand a pop. I’ve seen five shooters go after one lion with high-powered rifles. It’s appalling.”

  “Maybe Wang will end up being killed by one of the endangered species he likes to hunt,” Hattie said.

  “One can only hope,” Hugh said.

  “So I take it canned hunts are legal here?” Leine asked.

  “At this juncture, yes,” Alma said. “They aren’t as prevalent in Tanzania as they are in South Africa, but the practice is growing. The cost to hunt a lion in the wild here is at least twice that of what a canned hunt costs. Wang has jumped on the bandwagon and is exploiting amateur hunters who can’t afford a ‘real’ trophy.” Her cheeks grew pink. “The government looks the other way. It’s a blatant case of money over conservation.”

  Hattie placed her hand on the older woman’s arm. “Take it easy. It looks like your blood pressure’s going through the roof.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just so upsetting.” Alma leaned back with a sigh. The conversation continued, but on a more somber note.

  After breakfast, Derek and Leine walked Captain Hugh back to his Land Cruiser.

  “Just how involved is the government?” Leine asked.

  “No one knows exact numbers, but interest is growing. A general was arrested not too long ago for allegedly working with poachers.” Derek sighed. “Government types are most at risk for taking bribes. The wages aren’t exactly wealth-inducing, and their jobs ensure that they come into contact with the poachers. These guys don’t just look the other way. As long as the money’s good, they’re actively participating.”