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

by Louise Rose-Innes

  The taxi pulled up right outside the Marriott Hotel. Sarah’s expression changed from one of happiness to pale and pinched as she steeled herself to go inside. He hated to see her like that. Only minutes ago she’d been relaxed and happy, her brown eyes dancing as she ate her hotdog and enjoyed the simple things in life.

  He grabbed her hand. “Be strong, it won’t be for much longer.”

  She reciprocated, her grip tight, desperate. “Please stay close by.”

  “I will.”

  She let go of his hand and got out of the car. Without looking back she swept into the hotel, nodding at the doorman. Crane watched until she disappeared into the stylishly lit interior. Reduced to his role as bodyguard, he paid the driver and took her shopping up to her room. She’d bought a few items, more for appearances sake than because she actually wanted them. Kaz opened the door and thanked him. He also reimbursed him for the taxi and then said with a wry smile. “For your trouble.”

  It was not yet five o’clock, so Crane went downstairs to the bar. The same barman was on duty, just as he’d hoped. He nodded a greeting and sat down.

  “Sparkling water?” the barman enquired.

  “No, give me a beer. I’m off duty.”

  Crane sipped his beer and waited until he saw a waiter come in with some snacks for a table in the far corner. This wasn’t the guy he wanted.

  “Where’s the waiter from yesterday?” he asked the barman, who was trying hard not to look bored. He had one other customer, a well-dressed Western woman sipping a glass of wine and typing on her laptop. Every now and then she’d glance in Crane’s direction, her smile welcoming. He pretended not to notice.

  “He’s on a break, I think. He was here earlier.”

  Crane thanked him and picked up a newspaper from a pile on a nearby table. He had to sift through all the local ones until he found an English Times. Soon enough, the waiter he was after appeared, and Crane beckoned him over.

  “What can I get you, sir?”

  “Actually, I was wanted to ask you a question. Do you remember the table from yesterday, with the four Arabic men and the two Americans? They sat over there.” He pointed to the relevant table, but the waiter was already nodding.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I got the impression you recognised the elderly gentleman.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m from Kabul so I recognised Mr. Haziz. He is well known in Afghanistan. He’s our provincial governor. Very well respected.”

  “I see.”

  So he’d been mistaken. The man wasn’t a supplier, he was a corrupt official probably with a financial stake in the operation. What his exact role was, however, was unclear.

  Crane asked a few more questions, then tipped the waiter for his information. In dollars, which made his face light up. With a happy smile, he dashed over to serve a couple who had sat down.

  Corruption was rife in Afghanistan. This was part of the reason why it was so difficult to stem the flow of drugs from that area. Everyone was in on it. Hell, most of the population depended on it. The farmers were subsidised to grow poppies, from which they produced heroin. The Taliban encouraged it as they used the funds to buy weapons and to contribute to their personal fortunes. The government officials took their cut…or elicited bribes to turn a blind eye. It was an ongoing cycle of corruption.

  Crane downed his beer and returned to his room where he immediately placed a call to Doug. It would be early morning in Oregon, but Doug was an early riser. Old habits died hard.

  “The guy’s name is Naser Haziz,” explained Crane, after he’d outlined where they were at. “He’s a provincial government official in Kabul and apparently of some standing, according to the waiter at the hotel.”

  “Great work, Crane,” Doug said, his voice croaky. He cleared his throat and Crane could hear rustling of bedding, as he sat up. “He’s probably part of the revenue chain. In some districts, poppy cultivation is a source of money the local governments depend on. Official’s tax the farmers almost as much as the Taliban do.”

  “I know. Some bloody war we’re fighting out here. The Taliban and the Afghans are in direct competition for the drug trade, and we’re helping the Afghans win.”

  “Let’s not get into that debate,” groaned Doug, stifling a yawn. “The recent surge in opium production has undercut years of anticorruption efforts, not to mention given the Taliban a new lease on life. We’re back to bloody square one.”

  “I’ll bet Kaz is a power broker, working for the government, smuggling opium or heroin across the border into Pakistan and shipping it out to the United States.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Crane sighed. It was starting to make sense. Kaz had contacts to the poppy farmers, probably from his father’s village in Helmand. Then he’d struck a deal with the local government to act on their behalf, and was using his legitimate business to smuggle the drugs out.

  “I’ll keep on it. If anything else crops up, I’ll call you.”

  He didn’t mention he’d been with Sarah all day. He knew exactly what Doug would say to that, but he’d be wrong. He felt sorry for her, that was all, and wanted to help her. Sure, she was beautiful, but she was vulnerable and frightened too. She needed his help. There was nothing more to it than that.

  Immediately after he hung up, his phone beeped again. It was still in his hand.

  Sarah.

  He opened the message. She’d sent him a photograph. It was a handwritten note on a hotel pad, with a name and a date. He maximised it on the screen and stared at the writing.

  The Pride of the East.

  November 27th

  A ship’s name. The date of its arrival in the U.S., maybe? His pulse quickened.

  Sarah, you beauty!

  This must have been what Kaz and Kramer were doing today. Confirming the shipment details.

  God, he hoped she’d deleted the image after she sent it and erased all evidence of the message. He didn’t risk replying in case Kaz was with her.

  He quickly forwarded the details on to Doug, who would put two and two together. If this was the shipment, then they’d got him. He fist-pumped the air.

  Kaz Erkel, you’re going down.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sarah tossed and turned in the unfamiliar hotel bed. It was no use, she couldn’t sleep. The events of the day rolled through her mind like relentless waves on the shore. Crane had been so supportive, so protective and she couldn’t deny she was attracted to him. They’d had fun too, of sorts. They’d talked and laughed, and walked arm in arm around the shops like normal people. Like a normal couple – even though they weren’t. He’d made her feel feminine, attractive even. No man had had that effect on her since Chris. It was intoxicating.

  She bit her lip. Kaz was fast asleep. He had the adjoining room but he’d locked the door between their rooms. She’d heard him do it when he thought she was asleep so she knew he wasn’t planning to come to her. It was too late now, anyway. Her phone said two o’clock. They were leaving tomorrow, back to reality.

  Sarah shivered under the sheets. Why had Kaz brought her here? Was it just to keep an eye on her or did he have something more sinister in mind? Because if he did, there was only tomorrow left in which to do it. Her blood ran cold and she hugged herself, trying to stop the panic from rising. No, she mustn’t be silly. Kaz wouldn’t dare do anything to her, surely? Yet her mind refused to settle down and eventually she threw back the covers and got up. Maybe she’d go for a walk, the hotel would be deserted now. The activity would take her mind off her situation and release some of the anxiety that held her in its terrifying grip. Holding onto the dresser so as not to lose her balance in the dark, she pulled on her skirt and blouse. If anyone asked, she’d say she had insomnia. It was true tonight.

  The key card lay on the bedside table. She picked it up and quietly exited the room. In the corridor she paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the light. It was then she realised she’d been too distracted to put on h
er shoes. How silly. She thought about going back in, then decided against it. The less noise she made, the better. She padded to the end of the corridor and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling window, which offered an unrestricted view of the hotel gardens, the parking lot and to the left, the building next door. The view was nothing special and she turned away, continuing down another passage which ran at right angles to the one she’d come from. When she got to Room 107, she paused. Crane’s room. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. Should she or shouldn’t she? She glanced up and down the passage. Nobody was about. The hotel was deathly quiet, even the lighting was muted, on low for the night. She could hear herself breathing, rapid and shallow. Would he still be awake?

  Making a snap decision, she knocked, but ever so gently. If he was awake he’d hear it, but if he was asleep it probably wouldn’t wake him.

  To her surprise the door sprung open and there was Crane, standing in a pair of loose fitting drawstring pants, naked from the waist up, with a gun in his hand.

  He exhaled when he saw it was her.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She tried not to stare at his bare torso. “Do you mind?”

  He opened the door to let her in, then put the gun down on his side of the bed. “Not at all.”

  “Did I wake you?” His bed was crumpled like he’d been lying it, the sheets pulled back as he’d got out. She realised her mistake. “I did. I’m so sorry. I’ll go back to my room.” She turned to leave.

  “No, don’t go,” cut in Crane. She stopped and stared at him, unsure now. “I’m a very light sleeper. Force of habit.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip, feeling silly. “I was lying in bed thinking all sorts of horrible things. It was driving me mad. I needed a… distraction.”

  “I’m happy to distract you, if that’s what it takes to get you to sleep,” he teased. She knew he was joking but his eyes sparkled devilishly and he looked irresistible standing there half-naked, his body firm and muscular. She knew what it was she wanted, had wanted for some time.

  “I got the photo you sent,” he said, when she didn’t reply.

  She nodded. That wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. He must have realised because the teasing look changed to a heated one as she moved forwards. Her arms snaked around his neck and she drew him towards her.

  He didn’t resist.

  Crane’s senses had gone into overdrive. His brain was screaming no, but his body wasn’t listening. Sarah was soft, scented and achingly beautiful, and he was only human. Her hair was mussed from tossing and turning but as he buried his hand into it, he was sure he’d never felt anything so soft. He closed his eyes and savoured the kiss, letting her lead. It grew heated pretty fast, and before he knew it, he was pulling her onto the bed.

  She let him, never once taking her eyes off his face. They were filled with desire and longing.

  “Are you sure?” he gazed at her, waiting for her to say no, that it had all been a mistake and she’d come to her senses, but she didn’t. Instead, she pushed him back onto the pillows and lay on top of him, kissing him harder than before.

  Okay, he got the message loud and clear. He put his arms around her and reciprocated. There was nothing timid or vulnerable about her now.

  She broke away and with a sultry look, pulled off her blouse and wriggled out of her skirt. He gazed in awe. She was even more beautiful naked. In the dim light of the hotel bedroom her body seemed to glow with a pale luminescence like an unearthly being, as she straddled him. With a groan he reached for her and pulled her down towards him.

  After that, things got a little intense as they made love, feverishly at first as they satiated their desire, then more gently the second time as they explored each other’s bodies, savouring every second. It was as if they both knew this was a once-off and they’d better make the most of it.

  “It was dangerous coming here,” Crane whispered much later as Sarah lay with her head on his shoulder. He stroked her arm with a lazy familiarity that was only achieved after making love. “But I’m so glad you did.”

  “So am I.” She pushed herself up onto her elbow and smiled at him. Her expressive brown eyes shone brighter than he’d ever seen them. There was a new intimacy between them, an understanding that although they’d crossed the line, they’d shared something special. “Thank you for distracting me so thoroughly.”

  He grinned back at her. “Anytime.”

  “I’d love to stay here with you, but I’d better get back. I have no idea what the time is?”

  “It’s nearly five,” he said automatically. The clock in his head was never wrong.

  Sarah leant over and gave him one last lingering kiss that he never wanted to end, then got out of bed. He watched as she pulled on her clothes and smoothed her hair. It was still dark in the room but outside the sky was beginning to lighten. With a last lingering look, she slipped out the door and it closed of its own accord behind her.

  Crane fell back on the pillow, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. He spread his arm out across the bed to feel the warm indent Sarah’s body had left behind and smiled to himself. She’d surprised him tonight, the way she’d taken control and let him know in no uncertain terms what it was she wanted, but he’d loved every minute of it. This sensual, passionate woman was a far cry from the scared, anxious person she’d become, not that he could blame her. It had given him a glimpse of what she was really like. In fact, Crane couldn’t remember when last he’d enjoyed himself so much.

  For a moment he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to make love to a woman like Sarah every night, and wake up next to her every morning.

  Heaven.

  That was what a long-term relationship should be like. Was that what Sarah had had with Chris? Crane found himself envying a man he’d never met. A dead man. He sighed, the endorphins must have turned his head to mush. This was a one-time thing, it had to be. Anything more would be too risky. As it was, her coming here tonight had been extremely dangerous, but he didn’t want to think about that now. He rolled over and shut his eyes, determined to bask for a little longer, before reality set in.

  Sarah was noticeably absent at breakfast.

  “My wife is sleeping in,” explained Kaz as Crane and Kramer sat down.

  “I hope she’s all right?” Crane asked politely.

  “Just a touch of jetlag. Nothing serious.”

  The breakfast buffet was extensive and as they ate, Kaz outlined the plans for the day. “I’d like you to accompany me this morning,” he told Crane. “Kramer will stay at the hotel and keep Sarah company. Then we fly out this evening.”

  Kramer nodded. No furtive glances or secret messages passed between them so Crane relaxed. He didn’t sense anything sinister. Sarah would be safe enough at the hotel, provided she didn’t go anywhere and he didn’t take Kramer for a killer.

  They left shortly after breakfast, but not before Crane had fired a text message off to Sarah telling her he was with Kaz and not to leave the hotel.

  The driver took them out of Islamabad and into the countryside. They drove for nearly an hour before arriving at small village. First impressions weren’t good. It was run down and derelict. Quite a contrast to the bustling capitol. Unpainted concrete houses with broken windows boarded up with plywood lined the streets, between them were a few sad-looking palm trees, some broken telegraph poles with wire hanging listlessly down or sagging between the ones that were still standing.

  The streets were in desperate need of repair, the car bounced along over potholes and cracks. Crane could see why Kaz had decided to bring him along, rather than Kramer.

  A woman hung up laundry on a makeshift washing line in what was once her back garden but was now a dried-up mess of plaster, concrete and worn-out shrubs.

  A man sat on his doorstep smoking a cigarette, staring into the distance, like the world outside wasn’t worth observing and he was happier in his imaginings. A motorbike meandered along the road, avoiding the potholes. The driver w
asn’t wearing a helmet but at that speed, there wasn’t any need.

  “Nice place this,” commented Crane, wondering where the hell they were.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” was all Kaz said, although the warning wasn’t necessary. Every sense Crane possessed was already on high alert. He remembered towns like this in the war, seemingly abandoned but hotspots for criminals, thugs and the poverty-stricken casualties of war. Even though this was Pakistan, it was close enough to the border with Afghanistan to have been affected.

  The only difference was back then he was well-armed, ready for conflict, and in US military gear. The locals avoided them and the criminals made themselves scarce. All he had now was his handgun which he wore in a holster around his waist, and a knife at his ankle. No body armour, no rifle and no backup.

  The driver knew where he was going and stopped outside a non-descript house, like all the others in the street. The windows were boarded up and there was no garden to speak of. Crane thought he saw movement up on the roof, but he was looking into the sun so he could have been mistaken.

  “Wait here,” Kaz ordered the driver, who nodded although he wasn’t happy about it. His eyes kept darting to the sides and up to the review mirror. Crane was pretty sure the windows were bullet proof, so if they needed to make a quick getaway, they’d have at least some degree of cover.

  He got out of the car and followed Kaz to the front door. They didn’t have to knock, it opened as they got there. A middle-aged man in traditional garb with a lean, battle-weary face and dark suspicious eyes opened the door.

  “Qasim,” he said, his face breaking into a warm smile.

  “Hello Faisal, my brother,” replied Kaz. They embraced and the man held the door open for them to enter. As he walked past, Crane noticed a mottled, rough patch of skin on his neck that extended down beneath the robes and upwards into his hairline. A shrapnel wound. He was also about the same age as Kaz, and despite the greeting, Crane didn’t think they were blood brothers. Cousins or friends more like, from the same village that got wiped out during the war. United by tragedy, and now working together to supply drugs to the United States.