by Gavin Reese
The Trafficker
A Michael Thomas Thriller
Gavin Reese
Liquid Mind Publishing
Copyright © 2021 by Gavin Reese
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Liquid Mind Publishing
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Although based on some portions of true events, this is a work of creative fiction. The characters and their names, along with the events, plots, and motives are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Gavin Reese donates a portion of all his sales to non-profit organizations that benefit law enforcement professionals and veterans, their families, and the heirs, survivors, and memories of our Fallen Heroes. A portion of The Debt Collectors proceeds helps fund law enforcement organizations that counter narcoterrorism. A portion The Misery Merchant proceeds benefits organizations that improve the rescue, rehab, and recovery of sex trafficking victims. A portion of proceeds from The Kizazi Murders goes to help cold case homicide investigations in the Baltimore, Maryland, area.
More information is at gavinreese.com
Contents
Michael Thomas Series
Introduction
Relevant Realities
Oath of The Absolver
Prologue
1. February 11. 04:45am
2. February 11. 07:49am
3. February 11, 5:03PM local
4. February 12, 06:51am local
5. February 12, 08:47am local
6. February 12, 09:38am local
7. February 12, 09:56am local
8. February 13, 09:50am local
9. February 12, 06:12am local
10. February 13, 07:14am
11. February 13, 10:29am
12. February 13, 1:14PM
13. February 13, 9:03PM
14. February 13, 9:23PM
15. February 14, 08:52am local
16. February 14, 5:48PM
17. February 15, 08:51am
18. February 15, 09:36am
19. February 15, 1:19PM
20. February 15, 2:00PM
21. February 15, 4:35PM
22. February 15, 7:47PM
23. February 15, 7:57PM
24. February 15, 8:02PM
25. February 15, 8:09PM
26. February 16, 08:06am
27. February 16, 08:25am
28. February 16, 09:30am
29. February 16, 09:42am
30. February 16, 10:01am
31. February 16, 12:03PM
32. February 16, 1:13PM
33. February 16, 1:20PM
34. February 16, 11:18PM
35. February 16, 11:47PM
36. February 17, 04:07am
37. February 17, 09:18am
38. February 17, 09:20am
39. February 17, 09:27am
40. February 17, 09:31am
41. February 18, 12:14PM
42. February 18, 2:21PM
43. February 18, 3:17PM
44. February 18, 4:13PM
45. February 18, 8:47PM
46. February 18, 11:13PM
47. February 18, 11:49PM
48. February 19, 01:09am
49. February 19, 06:52am
50. February 19, 1:12PM
51. February 19, 1:16PM
52. February 19, 2:33PM
53. February 19, 2:38PM
54. February 19, 3:35PM
55. February 19, 3:43PM
56. February 19, 5:05PM
57. February 19, 5:05PM
58. February 19, 5:12PM
59. February 19, 5:19PM
60. February 19, 5:28PM
61. February 19, 5:40PM
62. February 19, 11:07PM
63. February 20, 05:04am
64. February 20, 10:03am local
65. February 21, 10:56PM local
66. February 22, 08:05am local
Epilogue
The Michael Thomas Series
The Bombmaker
The Bombmaker – Prologue
The Bombmaker – One
The Bombmaker – Two
Author’s Note
Cast of Characters
Church Officials
The Rest of God’s Children
Gavin Reese
Michael Thomas Series
The Absolver
The Trafficker
The Bombmaker
For Mo Anam Cara, my mom, and everyone who believed in me.
Introduction
The Trafficker is the second book in my Absolver Series. Set in the same universe and timeline as the Alex Landon Crime Series, readers will eventually find some common ground between them. Common themes. Common struggles. Common characters.
As with all my published works, this book is written to be read and understood as a stand-alone fiction. While readers will certainly pick up on details shared between my publications, it is not absolutely necessary to start reading from Book One, which is The Absolver. This series uses fictional characters and events to explore questions that have plagued mankind since Cain and Abel: Does moral violence exist? To what limits? Who is entitled to vengeance, and when does God use man as an instrument to exact His own? When is it moral to take a human life, and when is our entitlement to dignity eclipsed by our detraction to the dignity of others?
More simply asked, what constitutes a murder, and what’s a just and deserved killing?
Although this is a work of fiction, I used extensive research and real-life facts to make this story as plausible as I could. I hope the following chapters effectively blur the lines between fiction, the possible, and the probable.
Relevant Realities
“If I am ever required to be a refugee, I hope to make it to Austria.” -- James Michener, The Bridge at Andau
“The Balkan [drug trafficking] route traverses the Islamic Republic of Iran, Turkey, Greece and Bulgaria across South-East Europe to the Western European market [through Austria], with an annual market value of some $20 billion.” -- United Nations Office on Drugs & Crime
"The recent refugee crisis in Europe has resurrected many specters the continent thought it had banished. Calls for increased national sovereignty and a limitation on or dismantling of the EU, for an abandonment of multicultural policies and for strict immigration controls, have grown louder and more insistent. It may also revitalize the global drug control regime. Vienna’s efforts to stamp out the drug trade in the 1920s-30s helped birth the global war on drugs. The city’s efforts today may help save it.” -- David Petruccelli, Postdoctoral Fellow at the Diplomatic Academy of Vienna
“[The] problem is Latin-American gangs. In the past 10 years, there have been attacks, robberies and rapes linked to MS-13 and rival gangs. But until now, the serious violence has been internecine. However, police and community leaders could see that it was only a matter of
time before members of the public became the victims.” -- Michael Day, journalist
“The use of drugs inflicts very grave damage on human health and life. Their use, except on strictly therapeutic grounds, is a grave offense. Clandestine production of and trafficking in drugs are scandalous practices. They constitute direct co-operation in evil, since they encourage people to practices gravely contrary to the moral law.” -- 2291, Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
“It is lawful to kill an evildoer in so far as it is directed to the welfare of the whole community, so that it belongs to him alone who has charge of the community’s welfare. Thus it belongs to a physician to cut off a decaying limb, when he has been entrusted with the care of the health of the whole body. Now the care of common good is entrusted to persons of rank having public authority: wherefore they alone, and not private individuals, can lawfully put evildoers to death.” —Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica [II-II, Q-64, Art 3]
Oath of The Absolver
I, Michael Andrew Thomas, swear my allegiance to Almighty God with eternal faith in His Church and Holy Scriptures.
I affirm my obligation to equally care for the eternal welfare of all God’s children.
I affirm that men infected with certain evils are bound for Hell without Final Absolution, which I willingly offer them as an act of eternal mercy.
I vow to never offer Final Absolution to a soul that may be rehabilitated by other means and other men, or without irrefutable knowledge of their grave mortal sins.
I vow to only offer Final Absolution to souls God has identified through His faithful servants placed over me, and to offer each identified soul Confession, Absolution, and Anointment.
I vow to endeavor to send God only souls fully absolved of their sins, prepared for His judgement and eternal entry into the Kingdom of Heaven.
I vow to willingly forfeit my mortal life or earthly freedom to vigorously protect the identity, actions, and purpose of myself and my fellow Absolvers.
I vow never, under any circumstance or duress, to betray this oath, my fellow Absolvers, or those God has appointed over me.
I acknowledge that my betrayal would scandalously support and defend the very evils I’ve vowed to defeat. I swear these vows to Almighty God of my own free will, upon my mortal body, and with my eternal soul. Per Dominum nostrum (Through our Lord)...
Prologue
Hours after midnight, Michael hurried over the wet Roman cobblestones and onto the narrow residential side street. His quick footfalls echoed harshly in the narrow alley and provided the only sound. I’ve gotta get to the body first! As he rushed back to the scene, a nearby radio replayed Pope Cornelius’ familiar homily in English. Michael couldn’t place the source.
“...in context, Jesus conveyed the righteousness that all must exhibit if they are to repent and ultimately enter His Kingdom. And so...”
The radio program faded out as Michael reached the target building and confirmed the address above the exterior doorway. Via del Cardello, 17. Four quick presses on the keypad unlocked the door. Michael ran up a nearby metal spiral staircase, but it looked different from what he remembered. They were concrete last time. The radio program played again, and it echoed through the apartment building’s interior.
“...the Beatitudes tell us the character of the virtuous people of God, those who have a place in His kingdom. They alone can expect the full blessings of His love...”
Michael reached the second-floor landing just as a doorway opened ahead of him on the right. A familiar elderly woman pushed her walker out from the apartment again, her white hair still pinned up in rollers. The woman’s eyes remained comically massive, but she didn’t wear glasses this time.
“Father Michael Andrew Thomas,” the woman called out and strangely addressed Michael by his clerical title and full birth name. “Is Pietro dead?”
Michael grimaced but didn’t respond to her unwelcome question. He sprinted toward Pietro Isadore’s apartment, where that man’s body should await him. When he realized the apartment door was open, Michael’s fear escalated into panic. People will find out, and they’ll try to intervene!
Rushing into the small apartment, Michael saw Isadore, a serial rapist, remained down on the tile floor just where Michael had left him. The radio broadcast returned but boomed as though coming from somewhere inside Isadore’s home.
“WHEN JESUS TELLS US, ‘BLESSED ARE THEY,’ HE DESCRIBES THE INNER PEACE OF ALIGNMENT WITH GOD, AND PLEDGES DIVINE REWARDS FOR HIS LOYAL FOLLOWERS.”
Michael rushed to the body, but Isadore was already cold and stiff, a little mummified even. Without explanation, Michael suddenly held a large, oversized syringe in his hands that he somehow knew contained the antidote necessary to revive the man. He raised it up above his head and prepared to plunge it through the dead rapist’s sternum to bring him back. You can’t die like this until I’m ready to kill you the right way! Before he could administer its contents, the syringe melted from his hands and dripped onto the floor, the antidote now useless to save the man’s immortal soul.
“Father,” the elderly woman again inquired from the doorway behind him, “is Pietro dead?”
“Yes,” Michael answered, “and I killed him.” Why did I say that? I can’t ever admit anything!
Overwhelming terror rose up inside Michael as Isadore’s mummy opened its eyes to gaze into his own. Wait, you’re dead, he wanted to say, you can’t do this! The serial rapist’s pupils glowed bright, fiery red, and Michael struggled to stand up and get away. My legs are too heavy, they’re locked down to the floor!
Isadore’s pain, fear, and misery, his genuine suffering, it all appeared in his expression. The man’s voice began as a harsh whisper. “hmmph...you…you sent me, TO HELL!”
Michael snapped awake and shot up in his darkened motel room. Sweat dripped down his face and soaked through his t-shirt, pillowcase, and bedsheets. “God, dammit,” he uttered to the otherwise empty room. Against his better judgment, Michael wiped his face on the comforter. My shirt sleeves are already too wet. He threw back the damp bedding, stepped over to the adjacent double bed, and laid on his back atop its dry covers.
Michael sighed and considered the recurring nightmare. It had haunted him every few weeks since Pietro Isadore forced his hand almost four months ago. The paradox of killing monsters to save their souls only works when I can first reconcile their sins. Nothing I’ve done before or since bothers me, not in the least, but Pietro Isadore’s ghost refuses to let me go, or my paranoid psyche refuses to forget him. No idea if it’s God telling me I messed up, or just my innate Catholic guilt eating away at me. I keep hearing that alcoholics don’t dream. There’s some real benefit to that. No wonder so many of us priests end up at the bottom of the bottle.
Michael comforted himself by recalling some of Saint Thomas Aquinas’ philosophy. If God can use demons for good, and to further His plans, then He can absolutely use good people for what seems like evil results. All that matters to me is that the girl Isadore drugged and brought home outlived him. I couldn’t save them both, and she survived, untouched by that monster. He was a serial rapist, after all, so I shouldn’t bother getting hung up on what his eternity looks like. I wanna believe Isadore alone is responsible for the choices that probably damned him to Hell. I couldn’t reconcile his sins and prepare him to meet God, despite that being the very reason for my entry into his life.
Michael sighed, stretched, and inhaled a deep, calming breath. We can’t take our possessions with us when we die, but we sure as hell take our baggage along for the ride. Isadore packed all that himself, and he did it by choice. He probably got what he deserved, so I’ve just gotta stop giving a shit about it. I sealed his fate the moment I shot him full of tranquilizer and, now, I fear that my eternity is entwined with his.
Just as all the other times the distorted memories had visited, Michael knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep. I’m already awake, may as well get started. He checked his watch, which
read 03:00. Mom always said our guardian angels come to us in the wee hours of the morning. I’m supposed to seriously consider my dreams and epiphanies at these hours. If that’s the case, I might be in real trouble.
He sat up and turned on a dim bedside lamp that sat atop a cheap, built-in nightstand between the room’s two undersized beds. The digital clock displayed the date and local time. February 11, 3:01am. Just in front of that, a new notepad showed the motel’s logo and location. Niobrara River Inn. Lusk, Wyoming.
