Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller

by Louise Rose-Innes

  He saw her start, surprised at the sudden contact.

  “Sorry,” he said immediately. “I don’t know why I did that.” It was the truth.

  “That’s okay. I don’t mind.” She held his gaze for a few short seconds. Enough to give him the beginnings of a warm glow. Then she said, “We should head back.”

  They began to walk again, in the opposite direction this time. Leaves were still falling in their droves off trees which were already half bare.

  “What’s your first name, Mr. Crane?” She asked, after a moments silence.

  “It’s Munro, but no one except my mother calls me that – and she’s been dead for ten years.”

  “And if my husband heard me call you that, he’d blow a gasket.”

  “Better stick with Crane then.”

  She laughed, which made him smile along with her. He got the feeling she didn’t laugh much. Happiness suited her, even if it was fleeting. A few minutes later the house came into view and the pallor returned to her cheeks. It must be like going back into prison, every time she went home. What a way to live.

  “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning,” he said with a reassuring smile as they parted ways. “Thanks again for the phone numbers. You shouldn’t have put yourself out.”

  “Anything to help,” was all she said, before she gave him a quick smile and turned to jog around the lake towards the house. He watched her for a long moment before he went the opposite way along a barely discernible path that emerged a hundred metres from the staff bungalows.

  Peter came out as Crane arrived. The security guard greeted him, his eyes probing the forest behind Crane to see where he’d been.

  “Took a walk,” Crane said, by way of explanation.

  Peter nodded, and set off on his first round of the evening.

  The sun had set, casting long shadows over the lake. He could smell the forest, an addictive scent that made him think of rushing water, rapids and kayaking. He suppressed the urge. He could feel the adrenalin building in his veins. He needed the release. But it would have to wait – and a long time at that. After Pakistan.

  Once back in his cabin, he called Doug and relayed the three numbers to him. As he suspected, Doug was ecstatic. “I’ll get my boys onto it first thing,” he said. Then Crane told him about the business trip.

  “Pakistan?” blurted out Doug. “Do you think he’s meeting with suppliers?”

  “I’ve no idea. He hadn’t said much but it makes sense. Although, he’s got legitimate business interests in the Middle East too.”

  “That’s his cover. Be vigilant, Crane. If we can get a lead on the source, it would be an even bigger bust. We could take down the whole distribution network.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Oh, I’ve got some news on Senator Malloy’s wife’s accident. It turns out it was the Mexicans who took her out. Probably in retaliation to that speech he gave, promising to crack down on the cartels.”

  “The Mexican cartels?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So it had nothing to do with Kaz, then?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. We found the truck abandoned in the state forest near Mount Hood. The agency recognised the guy from some photos. He’s a small time enforcer for the Sinaloa cartel.”

  “Christ. Why haven’t they taken Kaz out before now? He’s their direct competition, surely?”

  “Kaz Erkel flies very much under the radar. The only reason we know of him is because he imports from the Middle East, particularly Afghanistan. His deliveries seem to correspond with fresh heroin flooding the market. Big red flag. Otherwise, we wouldn’t suspect anything. It’s unlikely the Mexicans even know of his existence, or if they do, they don’t know who is responsible.”

  “An organisation this size must be hard to keep under wraps. Someone always talks.”

  “We don’t know who the key players are yet. The stuff he brings in is a hundred percent pure. His clients are wealthy and well respected. He doesn’t use small time dealers like the cartels. They’re most likely to be his friends or family.”

  “You mean like a pro-golfer, or the owner of an exclusive fitness centre?”

  “Spot on.”

  “I’m willing to bet those guys I met the other day are his distributors. It makes sense, Doug. He brings in the stuff, stashes it somewhere secure, then sells it to his buddies, who sell it on to their clientele.”

  Adrenalin surged through him. The picture was beginning to take shape. He could hear the excitement in Doug’s voice too. Finally, they had some leads.

  “I’ll get on those numbers you gave me. They’re all local. Maybe they’ll shed some light. And I’m going to set up surveillance for those men you mentioned, perhaps even some wiretaps.”

  “Great. I’ll be in touch when I can.”

  They hung up. Like a hunter who’d been circling his prey for some time, Crane could feel he was closing in. Doug would handle the US distributors, while he would suss out the Afghan suppliers. Together they could bring down the whole operation and take millions of dollars of heroin off the streets. And of course, it would free Sarah so she could be with her son and be a mother, instead of living in fear of the man she’d married, who had an ever-tightening noose around her neck.

  God, he wished he could go for a kayak. He needed the release. Needed to push his body to the limit so as to expel all the tension of the last few days, except there would be no release right now. He opted to go for a run instead. A long one. The more tired he was, the less chance the nightmares would rise up and plague him.

  It was a dark night so he stuck to the road rather than the forest path. Less chance of stumbling over hidden branches. He pushed himself hard, mile after mile, until his breath came in ragged gasps. His were the only footsteps on the tarmac, there was nobody else around. A few cars passed by, their lights temporarily blinding, but other than that, he didn’t see a soul. It was almost midnight when he got back to the bungalow. The big house was in darkness, all its occupants fast asleep so as to be fresh for their trip tomorrow morning. Crane showered off the sweat and residue stress. The run had exorcised the tension from his body, and he knew when he tumbled into bed, that he’d finally be able to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Crane had forgotten how long it took to travel to the Middle East. They left Portland at ten forty-five that morning and flew to Los Angeles where they changed to a Qatar Airways flight to Doha. From Doha they took an internal flight to Islamabad. The entire trip took twenty-six hours.

  Compared to the crisp, cool climate in Portland, Islamabad felt hot and balmy. It was at least eight-one degrees but overcast and drizzly at the same time. The air quite literally stuck to one’s skin, covering it in a thin moist film of perspiration. It brought back memories of his special forces days. Pakistan was right next to Afghanistan and he’d frequently crossed the border between the two countries on covert missions. In mid-summer the temperature could soar into the high nineties, but in winter, especially at night, it could drop to below freezing.

  Crane generally adjusted well to climate changes and time zones, but he could see Sarah wilting. Judging from the purple shadows under her eyes, she hadn’t slept much on the plane, even though they’d travelled business class. Crane had half expected to be stuck in economy by himself, but that hadn’t happened.

  She’d probably been too keyed up to sleep and he couldn’t blame her. Bringing her along was a sure sign Kaz was suspicious and didn’t trust her to be left alone. Or he had something else in mind, which was a worrying thought but one he was sure had crossed her mind too. It would be a lot easier to make someone disappear in a place like this, than in Portland Oregon.

  He’d wanted to reassure her, let her know he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her, but there was no way he could get close to her on the plane. She was seated next to Kaz, in a window seat, and he was two rows back on the opposite side of the plane. The flight was full, so there was no room to manoeu
vre, and no way of communicating with her without making it obvious.

  Now, he met her eye as they waited to collect their luggage and smiled. She gave him the tiniest hint of a smile back, but her shoulders were ridged with tension and the strained look never left her face.

  A driver met them at Arrivals and took them to the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad’s city centre. It was four stars, luxurious and nothing like the places in which Crane normally stayed. When he’d been posted to this part of the world, they usually bunked down in bombed out houses or dusty shacks when they had to go into a town, or camped rough when outdoors on a mission. He preferred it that way. God, he missed those days. In particular, the heart-thumping anticipation that built up before a mission, the hushed voices, the meticulous planning and the comradery in his unit. He even missed the danger, the hours of solitude as he tracked the Taliban across miles of mountainous terrain, the physical exertion and the mental strength required to survive out there in hostile territory all by himself. Nothing he’d done since compared to it.

  But still, he was used to adapting to new situations and before long he’d showered, changed and was back in the lobby waiting for Kaz. It seemed his boss wasn’t suffering from jetlag either, but then the businessman would be used to the trip. According to Sarah, he travelled to this part of the world at least twice a year. That would coincide with two major shipments a year, which Doug said made sense based on their intel.

  “Sarah’s sleeping,” Kaz told Crane when he arrived in the lobby. “She doesn’t travel well.” He nodded to the front entrance. “They’ll be here soon. If you keep vigil at the bar, that will be good enough.”

  The meeting kicked off about half an hour later. Four Arabs arrived in a black Mercedes with shaded windows, probably bullet-proof. They were well-dressed with rings on their fingers and manicured fingernails. They reeked of money.

  Kaz greeted them formally, but fondly – particularly the eldest man – who addressed Kaz as Qasim, his birth name, implying some previous familiarity. Crane wondered fleetingly if they were related.

  It was clear the eldest man was in charge. Genteel, well-spoken and elegantly dressed, his grey beard was neatly trimmed and he gazed at everything with inscrutable, intelligent eyes. There was no mistaking his subdued yet powerful presence. The other three men were in awe of him. They deferred to him and waited until he directed a question at them before answering. No one spoke out of turn.

  They conversed in Arabic, so any hope of eavesdropping was out of the question. The smattering of words he’d picked up during his military career were useless here.

  From his position at the bar, Crane observed their body language, something he was particularly good at. Years of field reconnaissance had honed his skills in that regard and he could read people a mile away. He returned to his previous theory. It wasn’t purely business. There was definitely something between them – Kaz and the elder man – some familial connection. He was sure of it.

  The meeting lasted a marathon four hours, interspersed with strong coffee and sweet pastries. Even the waiter who’d delivered the pastries bowed to the senior Arab respectfully.

  Crane had to admire Kaz’s staying power. He appeared as alert as if he’d just woken up from a good night’s sleep in his four-poster bed, not got off a twenty-six-hour flight. The meeting had invigorated him.

  Kramer, on the other hand, wasn’t fairing as well. He had dark shadows under his eyes and his skin looked dehydrated and crinkly. Crane saw him stifle yawn and chuckled to himself. He had no such worries. Not only was he used to sleep deprivation, but – like any good soldier – he’d also forced himself to sleep on the plane, knowing he might need it later. The long period of inactivity didn’t bother him either. Once he’d laid hidden for sixteen hours while spying on a Taliban stronghold. This assignment was a breeze.

  The barman kept him supplied with sparkling mineral water, obviously used to these kind of arrangements, or even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t the type of hotel which would complain. Not with such esteemed guests in situ. It was obvious from the level of conversation that negotiations were in progress, and deals were being made. At that moment, Crane would have given a year’s pay to know what was being said.

  Finally, Kaz stood up and embraced the elderly Arab. It was a warm exchange. The deal was complete and satisfactory to both parties. Then he shook hands with the other three men, all of whom smiled and nodded prolifically like those toys with the wobbly heads. What was the connection? Only Kramer seemed more remote, more formal. The finance chief wasn’t included in this inner circle. As far as these guys were concerned, he was the outsider.

  With perfect timing, Sarah chose that moment to appear in the lobby. She turned heads from the minute she stepped out of the elevator in a beautiful figure-hugging blue dress displaying her willowy figure. Her blond hair hung in a sleek veil down her back, and although she looked pale, her exquisite beauty was undeniable.

  Crane saw a look of intense pride flash across Kaz’s face, before he went to greet her. The Arabs were staring unabashed, not used to such beauty on full display. Their speechlessness puffed Kaz out even more. He appeared to take more pride in what his associates thought, than in his own enjoyment. Crane gritted his teeth. He understood now. This wasn’t love. This was ownership.

  Sarah played her role to perfection. She smiled and greeted the Arabs demurely, oblivious to the effect she was having on them and the other visitors to the hotel, many of whom were gawking outright.

  After greeting her husband and his associates, Sarah sauntered over to the bar. Now she’d made her appearance and boosted her husband’s ego and standing amongst his associates, she was no longer required.

  “You look refreshed,” murmured Crane as she perched on a bar stool beside him. Sensational was the word he should have used. Her made-up face shimmered and shone in all the right places. Her eyes looked huge, rimmed with kohl and the coral lipstick on her lips made them appear full and glossy, and way too inviting.

  “I needed a rest,” she replied, nodding her thanks to the barman who bought her an extra glass. Crane poured her some of the sparkling water but she didn’t touch it. Her shoulders were rigid with stress and her eyes, for all their beauty, darted back and forth from her husband to the Arabs to Crane and back again. She was in a state of panic despite her elegant entrance.

  “Calm down,” whispered Crane, giving her hand a quick squeeze under the bar counter. Kaz and Kramer had walked the Arabs to the door and were waving them off. Their black, armour-coated car swooped down as commanded and the driver jumped out to open the door for them. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She turned to him, her pupils dilated. “How do you know? I shouldn’t be here. This is all wrong.”

  “Yes, but you’re in safe hands. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  She exhaled and made a concerted effort to calm down. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she told the barman, who obliged without hesitation.

  The alcohol would do her good, it would take the edge off her nerves.

  Kramer joined them first, ordering a stiff whiskey. Kaz arrived shortly afterwards, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “That went well,” he said to Kramer, who nodded in response. The finance whizz wanted nothing more than to go to his room and recuperate, Crane could tell. He was hanging on by a thread.

  Kaz called it a day shortly after that. Crane had no doubt the threesome would meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant, but he wouldn’t be invited. His job was done for the day. The hired muscle was no longer needed.

  “Why don’t you take Sarah shopping tomorrow?” suggested Kaz as they walked towards the elevator. “We’ll be tied up in meetings all morning, so there’s no point in hanging around.”

  Crane met Sarah’s gaze over her husband’s head. “Sure. No problem.”

  She threw him a grateful smile before the elevator opened and they all stepped inside. They rode the short distance to the fourth floor in si
lence. Kaz’s hand resting possessively on Sarah’s back. Crane found he was grinding his teeth.

  As the doors opened, Kaz said, “See you at breakfast, say eight o’clock?”

  Crane nodded. His services were no longer required. He watched as Kaz led Sarah to their room a few doors down from his own. God, he hoped the bastard wasn’t going to take advantage of her right now because if she was his wife, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her in that dress. The thought made his blood boil.

  He let himself into his room at the opposite end of the corridor and walked over to the window to peer outside. Force of habit. The view was unremarkable: a concrete wall belonging to the building across the road. It looked to be an office block. He’d got the cheap room rate.

  A brochure caught his eye. On the cover was a well-maintained, azure, three-lane swimming pool complete with underwater lighting. He could certainly do with swimming a few laps before ordering room service and hitting the sack. He was agitated, keyed up and not sure why. Sarah? No, she was safe enough until tomorrow. It was probably fatigue. Funnily enough, it was times like this when he got the stirrings of a craving. A memory long suppressed, but still active when his body and mind got weak. It would probably always be this way. The cross he had to bear – compliments of the Taliban. Thankfully, stirrings were all it was, and he quashed the sensation and headed for the swimming pool.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sarah had been looking forward to today. The Jinnah Super as it was locally known was quiet, but then it usually was midmorning. According to their driver, the crowds began to arrive late afternoon and by evening it was a bustling bazaar lit up with neon lights and packed with shoppers, tourists and locals drawn to the fast-food outlets and myriad of snack bars.

  Sarah knew she’d surprised Crane by wearing an ankle-length skirt with a long-sleeved blouse and a head scarf. Her face was made up and her eyes heavily kohled. Kaz had suggested she show respect for the culture by covering her head. To be honest, she didn’t mind. The headscarf and make-up made her feel like someone else other than Kaz’s trophy wife. No one would notice her like this. Also, hidden behind the makeup, she could disguise the tension written in the fine lines around her eyes and in her sallow complexion. If she looked in the mirror she didn’t see a frightened woman in an abusive relationship, she saw someone who was attractive and confident, who could cope with everything life threw her way. Even if it was all a lie.