The Trafficker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  “Nothing yet. My contacts are still working on it, but nothing obvious. He might be a local who’s new to this kind of work.”

  “Keep at it. Go visit my in-laws and call as soon as you have news."

  “It’s your money, until it’s mine.”

  Alfred disconnected the call and forwarded Stefanie’s family contacts to the hunter’s current cell number. How far am I willing to take this, if she is hiding among them? He considered the logistics and potential consequences, but he suffered no emotional tie to Stefanie or her relatives. They mean nothing to me, and they’ve never thought of me as ‘good enough’ for their precious Stef, regardless of the life I provide her. No, if she’s chosen to bring them into this, whatever necessarily becomes of them will be placed at her feet. Stefanie should have stayed out of my business, just as we agreed years ago. Now, her actions have brought us to this.

  Alfred sent one last text message: “If needed, do not let those peasants stop you. A bonus for any additional threats that require your attention.”

  February 16, 1:20PM

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Rogelio Salvador stood in his hotel suite and intermittently watched Alfred König’s office windows across the busy street. Still dressed in the tailored navy-blue suit pants, custom dark brown kangaroo leather cowboy boots, and powder blue Armani dress shirt he’d worn on that morning’s flight from Culiacan in Sinaloa, Mexico, Rogelio made slight adjustments to a remote, covert camera set up on his room’s windowsill. He stepped back to the open laptop that sat on the room’s lavish, carved wood desk and examined the product of his work. A few final adjustments transmitted to the camera by Bluetooth sharpened the image displayed on his screen. Rogelio sneered as he watched König standing before the windows of his office. He’s looking out on the world beneath him like a king taking inventory of his spoils. Perhaps his surname’s gone to his head.

  Rogelio stood and poured himself another cup of coffee from a silver carafe that room service delivered upon his arrival. Walking by the open closet, a slight blemish on his hanging suit jacket caught his attention. Rogelio paused just long enough to pull the dot of lint from the sleeve before returning to the laptop. After sipping at his black coffee, he set it aside and activated a live audio feed from the covert directional microphone clamped to the small ledge outside his windows. A streaming translation service provided a delayed live audio feed of the conversation, as well as a written transcript in his native Spanish. Rogelio listened to the translator’s voice and looked out the window at his business partner. We’ll soon know if you’re capable of living up to your commitments, Señor König.

  Despite the accessible transcript, Rogelio handwrote significant details and impressions as he listened to the audio feed details. He glanced at his watch and realized his cohorts in the Santa Lena cartel wouldn’t be up and available for at least five hours. I can always wake them for an emergency, but none of this is urgent news. Our partnership with König is as we feared and expected. Everyone who begins a new business endeavor with us believes they’re the smartest asshole in the room. This whetto König is no different. He isn’t yet ready to step up to the big leagues, despite his funding and shipping resources. He’s working with the African delivery service, and that’s another area of exposure that he kept from us. Immigrants will betray him when they’re caught, and minority populations are the preferred targets of drug police worldwide. They’ll have no loyalty for him and can’t be trusted to conduct themselves with any honor at all. With all the focus on refugee and immigrant crimes in Europe right now, it is but a short matter of time until his distributors and dealers are, in fact, caught, and that makes his identification and apprehension a certainty.

  Rogelio leaned back in the luxurious zero-gravity desk chair and again looked out across the street where König foolishly spoke on his cell phone next to the large office windows. I’m not ready to report that he's betrayed our trust and formed other partnerships, but it appears that way. He’s recklessly calling in hired gunmen to find his missing wife, and that’s certain to draw attention to him from the media and the police. We can’t afford that risk exposure, not with the millions of euros that are at stake with next week’s shipment. We must rein in this arrogant fuck. The fentanyl shipment left the Port of Veracruz nineteen days ago and I can’t simply call it back. The cargo ship is en route to West Africa after it leaves the Med and won’t return to Mexico for another two months. It may be possible to intercept the container at another Mediterranean port, if it comes to that, but the logistics of forcibly taking it back and escaping with its contents are almost impossible on such short notice.

  His cell phone vibrated and skittered atop the hardwood desk, and Rogelio glanced at the caller ID before answering in his native version of Spanish. Tramo's up early, even if he is in Miami right now. “Good morning.”

  “I don’t know that yet,” his peer’s familiar, raspy voice announced. “It all depends on how things are going for you.”

  Rogelio laughed and shook his head at the man’s worry. “The worst thing that happens is that we have to find a new distributor, Tramo. I have no concern that we’ll lose either end of the transaction, and I think we might go home with both.”

  “Is that right? He betrayed us already, didn’t he?”

  “Not with the federales, I don’t believe, but I’ve been listening to his conversations inside his office. He’s trying to work with other families in Mexico, and he’s shipping direct for two of the Columbian cartels.”

  “There’s not enough room in one man’s bed for that much company.”

  “No, and he’s too foolish and arrogant to realize it. I think he’s too great a risk for us to trust him with this shipment.”

  Tramo scoffed, and Rogelio imagined his tall, lanky frame was already standing on the balcony of his hotel with a lit cigar and the day’s first three fingers of Courvoisier liquor. “That’s up to all of us, Rogelio, you and I are but two of the five controlling votes since Chava’s death. Do you really see such risk in allowing it to proceed?”

  “It will be much easier to retrieve both sides, the narcotics and the cash, than to trust him to stay out of witness protection. He’s exactly the kind of man the American D-E-A seeks out to trade up for us. Given the chance, this sweet prince would burn his own mother at the stake to save himself from a minor nuisance. He is a ‘king’ in name only, Tramo.”

  His colleague sighed and didn’t move the phone far enough away before sipping at some unknown drink. “We found him, we can find another.” The cocaine trafficker paused. “You know more about the man and his abilities than any of us. I will support whatever you propose to the council. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Thank you, but, no, not yet. Perhaps in the coming days, after I formulate a strategy and work out the tactics. I will let you know.”

  “Siempre mortal, hermano.”

  “Yes, always.” Rogelio ended the call and considered his relative lack of options. No, we must go forward with this delivery in some manner, even if it means we recover the shipment upon its arrival to the port. Either way, we will leave with König’s money and, maybe, with the drugs as well. No one gets to betray us for free. I’ll keep his millions. König will be lucky to keep his life.

  February 16, 11:18PM

  Tourist Information Center. Vienna, Austria.

  At a slightly concealed doorway near the southwest corner of the building, Michael retrieved his lockpick set and went about defeating an exterior deadbolt. I’m surprised a state building is guarded by nothing more than cheap mechanical locks. Break-ins must not be a problem here. Until tonight. He glanced to his left where a lighted blue-and-white Polizei sign jutted out above the station entrance, just three doors away from his active felony. Few cars passed on the boulevard behind him, and the cold had driven all the pedestrians and revelers back inside. Cold nights are one of the most effective anti-crime measures known to man. Subzero temps might be the best pa
rtner I ever had.

  click

  Michael breathed a sigh of relief when the lock gave way, and he stepped into the back of the Tourist Information Center building as though he belonged there. He paused long enough to re-secure the deadbolt, just in case he’d been spotted. No reason to make it easy for cops or criminals to follow me in. Despite the late hour and the apparent lack of workers, the primary hallways and many offices remained lit as Michael drew closer to König’s office near the opposite, northeast corner. Although substantially longer, this route bypasses all the known cameras. Entering near the police station oughta also prevent suspicion. What kinda criminal would be brazen enough to break-in next to the Polizei, right? His dull, dark gray pants and hoodie might suggest his intent but, if confronted, he planned to portray himself as a dumb, lost foreigner until it was time to run.

  Michael turned the final corner to approach König’s office and concealed his face from the cameras there. Time to find out if König changed the codes. A few more steps allowed him to swipe his access card across the door’s sensor and again release its locks.

  thuck

  Grateful for König’s oversight, Michael opened the door just far enough to reach inside and turn off the light switch. He breathed a sigh of relief the motion sensors didn’t activate. Michael pushed the door open farther, stepped into the dark office, and closed the door behind him. He waited in place until the locks re-engaged.

  thuck

  Michael paused and looked across the office to the Die Festung motion detector. Good. It’s solid green and not flashing red this time. König didn’t change that, either. I should buy a lottery ticket and go skydiving. Striding across the dark office, he concealed himself behind the curtains and stood near the closest corner of the long glass wall that faced out to Operngasse. Michael watched the vehicle and pedestrian traffic for several minutes. Doesn’t look like anyone's moving toward me or paying any attention to these windows. Like all tactics, closing the blinds is a double-edged sword, but I need light to review König’s documents and search his office a lot more than I need to watch the street below. This’d all be a lot easier with a partner. Michael sighed, knowing what his boss thought of that.

  He found a control panel nearby and pushed a button that displayed the same “Close Doors” icon found in elevators. A light mechanical whirring began as the curtains expanded toward the center of the room and covered the outer glass wall.

  Michael stood, awaited his required privacy, and set his investigational priorities. Bookcase first. Desk second. Documents last. He brought his wristwatch up and turned on its timer function. Gonna give myself half an hour, no longer. Can’t risk being confronted by an overnight cleaning crew, even if König didn’t get the motion alarm this time.

  February 16, 11:47PM

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Rogelio stepped out from the steam-filled bathroom and saw his smartphone displayed new alerts. Checking those, he frowned and moved to inspect his surveillance equipment and video feed. What would König be doing in his office at this hour? That can’t be right, he’s not hungry enough to work this late.

  Rogelio logged into his laptop and, via Bluetooth, its screen populated with the video feed of König’s office suite. The primary lens showed the room’s curtains were closed, but the slightest little glimpses of light near the edges announced the interior lights were on. He switched to the thermal view and watched the image of a man seated at König’s desk. What are you up to, Herr König?

  Rogelio sat down at his room’s desk, poured a tall jigger of apple schnapps, a local Bavarian liquor, and watched his own live television show. Within several minutes, he concluded the figure in König’s office was not Alfred König. He’s searching the room, and not as though he’s misplaced something. He’s looking for secrets, not lost property. Rogelio leaned back in his chair and considered how to resolve this new problem. The man’s thermal image showed him trying to open König’s bookcase, but without the means to do so.

  No, this is not our traitorous partner. Perhaps it is another of König’s associates who has betrayed him? That would serve him right, given how he has treated Santa Lena. Rogelio had been surveilling König long enough to know about his storage room and its importance. This stranger knows about König’s secret, as well, but he’s not willing to force his way in. Maybe he doesn’t understand the treasure concealed inside or doesn’t yet want König to know he’s been there. I’d like to know what he’s after.

  Rogelio sipped at his schnapps, at least one decision made. Regardless of what else happens, König must be killed for his missteps. He’s exposed our organization to far greater risk than I’m willing to accept, and he’s proved himself incapable of making the decisions necessary to keep our business. The man’s thermal image moved from the concealed doorway without ever opening it. Now, that also means this intruder, whoever he is, must also be identified and dealt with before he stumbles into all the euros that König doesn’t realize he’s storing for me. At this point, anyone who steals from Alfred König is stealing from the Santa Lena cartel. I can tolerate many things, but theft will never be among them.

  February 17, 04:07am

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Michael awoke in terror but recognized his room inside the Hotel Sacher. Goddamned anxiety dreams. At least this one didn’t involve Isadore. He laid back, inhaled a deep, calming breath, and massaged his temples for a moment. Often referred to as the “Universal Cop Dream” by police psychologists, Michael’s preferred version placed him in the middle of a gunfight but wouldn’t allow him to pull the trigger. It never mattered how hard he pressed, the damned thing never budged, all while incoming bullets landed around him. Michael only ever woke when he started sucking up rounds himself.

  At least my psyche returned to the classic version. It’s less terrifying to dream about being shot by a faceless adversary than to lose a once-real knife fight with John. Michael flashed back to that version of his anxiety dream and the terror of helplessly watching his boss and trainer cut and stab him. Despite all the valuable lessons and skills John and his trainers had passed on to Michael, he still resented that he had feared for his life and safety in the process. Have to get over that shit someday. John isn’t the apologetic type.

  A glance at the clock revealed he’d slept for only two-and-a-half hours. Also gotta figure out how to turn my mind off and rest. Tired and distracted gets you killed. Despite his logical understanding, Michael cycled through several deep, calming breaths and gave up on sleep. May as well be productive if my brain’s not gonna let me rest.

  Michael rose and stumbled to the bathroom. He turned the dimmer switch on a low setting and stared at his reflection. After yesterday’s incident with the bellhop, he had to take additional precautions to still move about the hotel and avoid ending up in handcuffs. I could change hotels, but that’d mean giving up all ability to watch König’s office and sneak up to his suite. The infamous double-edged sword of tactics. He ran his hands through his mid-length brown hair. Time’s running out. The only things I can afford to change are my appearance and my schedule. One thing at a time.

  February 17, 09:18am

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Seated before the low coffee table, Michael watched his laptop monitor and glanced out the window to König’s office across the street. His target remained in place, just where he’d been for the last ten minutes. He’s sipping coffee and watching the street below like he’s waiting for something to happen. Must be another delivery this morning. He rubbed the fresh new stubble on his head where hair had been.

  The prickly feeling on his hands reminded Michael that he had come prepared to change his appearance several times, if necessary. Since waking that morning, he’d also placed lifts in his shoes that made him about 6’1” and donned thick, large-frame glasses with non-prescription lenses. A small amount of makeup smoothed his complexion and colored contacts changed his eyes from hazel to blue. It
’s ironic that my greatest security threat here is a dayshift bellhop.

  Michael looked back out the window. Koenig had disappeared from sight. He lifted the thermal binoculars and saw his target was inside the hidden room. “Can’t wait to see what you’re hiding in there, Herr König. You’ve got about a day to keep your secrets from me, I recommend you make good use of the time.”

  Confident his target couldn’t see him, Michael set the binos down, stood, and moved to the window. The same delivery van sat near the building’s main entrance with its flashers on.

  February 17, 09:20am

  Tourist Information Center. Vienna, Austria.

  Fuerza sat in a small waiting area on floor 3, just a few yards away from the elevator bank. He pretended to read a local newspaper and hoped Negro had the discipline to stay in place this time.

  bing

  The elevator chimed its arrival, but Fuerza kept his focus on the newspaper and didn’t look up when the doors opened. In his peripheral vision, the African emerged in his brown uniform and winter coat. He paused a moment as though inspecting Fuerza, and then continued down the long hallway to his left. Only after he’d taken a dozen steps did Fuerza risk a direct look at his target. Same size package as he always brings, and the same size that he always leaves with. That alone oughta be worth some questions.

  When the African stopped near the end of the hall and rapped on the door, Fuerza looked back at the newspaper.

  thuck

  The odd mechanical noise echoed through the hallway. Fuerza waited until he saw movement again to look back at his target. The African disappeared through a doorway, and he rose to identify it. He kept his focus on the small sign the delivery driver had just walked under. Its blue logo was different from the other business signs nearby.