The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller

by Berkom, D. V.

  “Looks good.”

  Grigori appeared pleased. He stayed where he was, obviously on the verge of saying something, but Leine could tell he struggled.

  With a sigh, she switched to Russian and asked, “Is there something else?”

  A look of immense relief washed over his face and he nodded. “Yes. Nicholas told me you are the assassin who killed the Frenchman. I would like to know if this is true.”

  Several years back, the Frenchman—so-called because of a tattoo of a guillotine on his right biceps—had been the scourge of Russian arms dealers everywhere. A dealer himself, he would find out where a shipment was to be delivered through his network of spies, wait until money changed hands, and then disappear after relieving both parties of weapons, cash, and the occasional life. Tensions escalated between the Russians and their buyers, with each side blaming the other for the breach of faith. The conflict spread and soon the United States became embroiled in an arms scandal involving a Russian diplomat, which the media pursued like a coyote on the trail of wounded prey.

  The agency she worked for sent her to kill him, the belief being that his death would return the world of arms dealing to normal and the media would move on to the next news cycle, allowing the US to concentrate on more pressing concerns. In the process, she’d almost lost her life and developed a deep hatred of tattoos. Years later, she’d met Vladimir Petrovich when the Frenchman’s psychotic spawn blackmailed her into liberating a family heirloom from Nadja Imports, where it hung behind Vlad’s desk.

  “You know I can’t answer that, Grigori.”

  Grigori’s face fell.

  “What do you say we check out the restaurant? I hear they make a mean camarones al mojo de ajo.”

  Grigori gave her a puzzled look.

  “Garlic shrimp—like scampi.”

  Grigori brightened, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, I like garlic. And the shrimps.”

  Ah, Leine thought. The language of food.

  ***

  Grigori hadn’t been kidding about his love of garlic shrimp. He ordered the large platter and followed it up with a second. Leine watched, fascinated, as he inhaled shrimp after shrimp, washing the crustaceans down with several shots of cheap tequila.

  The Russian capacity for alcohol had always intrigued her, along with the incomprehensible ability of a trained shooter to hit a target after drinking a full liter of vodka. When she mentioned this to Grigori, he laughed and said that most of his family had been weaned on vodka and trained to hit what they were shooting at no matter how much they’d been drinking.

  Grigori regaled her with stories of his life growing up in a small village in Russia, and how he knew Nicholas, who was his uncle on his mother’s side. Grigori had finished the second platter of camarones and most of a liter of tequila when he leaned toward her, a serious expression on his face.

  “What is your stand on pockets?”

  “I’m sorry?” Leine cocked her head to the side, wondering what the hell was going through the Russian’s tequila-fueled mind.

  “Pockets. What do you think of pockets? Yes? No? Will you buy clothing that does not have them?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a position on the subject, although I am quite fond of cargo pants. The side pockets are practical.”

  “Da. You see? You have position. I do not buy clothes without pockets,” he declared, shaking his head. “A man must be able to carry things.” He proceeded to show her the various compartments in his shirt and pants. He even had a small pouch sewn into the bottom of each sock where he kept cash and important papers. Leine wondered how far he took this obsession and if it extended to his tightie whities.

  After dinner, they’d both retired to their rooms, knowing the next day would come early. Leine sat on her balcony, listening to the waves lapping the shore below her, wondering what to expect from Zamir and his group. She’d checked satellite images of the meeting place and found a dozen or so nondescript warehouses in a rundown section of Ensenada. There were two ways in and out, with the main highway a few kilometers to the north.

  When an hour had passed, Leine called the front desk and requested a taxi. She took the stairs to the second floor and quietly padded to Grigori’s room. Loud snores could be heard from inside. Satisfied he wouldn’t be interested in following her, she continued down the stairs to the street to wait. She could have brought the big Russian with her, but he’d had too much to drink and Leine preferred to work alone.

  Ten minutes later, the cab pulled up. She got in and gave the driver the address to the warehouse, instructing him to drive by slowly.

  “But señora, this is only an industrial area. There are no clubs or restaurants.”

  “That’s fine. Just circle the block. My husband is considering purchasing one of the properties, and he asked me to take a look for him.”

  The cab driver shrugged and did as she asked.

  After a drive by, Leine instructed him to wait for her at the end of the block while she investigated further. The cab driver objected, going on about the crime rate in that section of town until Leine gave him some money to shut him up.

  She crept behind the warehouses, keeping to the shadows until she reached the address indicated on the map Nicholas had given her. Situated halfway down one of the rows of warehouses, the building had definitely seen better days. Constructed primarily of crumbling block, it boasted a rusty, corrugated steel door secured with a shiny new padlock. Graffiti decorated the walls and the area smelled like stale beer and piss.

  Charming.

  Leine scanned the roof. On the satellite map, she’d noticed three box-shaped images on the side of the building. She saw now that they were individual air conditioners spaced a few feet apart, probably leading to second-floor offices.

  She spotted a pipe running up the building and cursed her injury. There was no way she’d be able to climb onto the roof quickly. Leine continued around to the front of the warehouse, taking note of the condition of the street, where the lights were, and the proximity of other businesses. The other warehouses looked empty, with most of the doors unsecured.

  The cabbie gave her a brief honk from where he had parked at the end of the street and Leine waved, indicating she’d be there in a minute. She started to head back to the car when something glittery in the middle of the pavement caught her eye. She crouched down to get a better look.

  It was a tiny, pear-shaped crystal.

  Chapter 29

  Elise slipped around the back of the barracks and picked her way down the slope to the lone tree growing in a gulley. Fanta was already there.

  “You weren’t followed?” Fanta asked.

  Elise checked behind her and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” Fanta nodded. “I wanted to talk to you before Garcia decides to put you to work other than as a maid.”

  “I wondered why he hadn’t yet.”

  “I think it has to do with when they get the tests back.”

  “But they took my blood days ago. The doctor told Garcia he didn’t find any diseases. That I was clean.”

  Fanta pointed at the bandage on her arm. “They just did that, right?”

  Elise nodded. She glanced at Fanta’s arm. She wore a smaller bandage. “When did you get yours?”

  “A few days ago.” Fanta paused. “Do you know what they do with the girls who are no longer useful?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re American, right? What’s your name?”

  “Elise. What’s yours?”

  “Julia.”

  “Why do you want to know if I’m American?”

  “I want to escape to America.” Julia inhaled deeply. “You will help me. We will help each other.”

  “Then you’re going to take me with you,” Elise said.

  “Of course.”

  “But how? Do you know where we are? I mean, we’re still in Mexico, right?”

  “I believe we are no more than one hundred kilo
meters from the United States. Once we are far enough away from here we can hitchhike to the border where you will vouch for me. Tell your government I am fleeing a dangerous situation. They will believe you because you are a wealthy American girl.”

  “Why do you think I’m wealthy?” Instantly on alert, Elise studied her newfound ally.

  Julia shrugged. “Because when you first arrived you wore expensive-looking underclothes—much finer than any of the other girls. And because of the way you act. You are used to telling others what to do. Only rich girls from America have been raised this way.”

  Elise unclenched her fingers, relaxing a bit. “Has anyone else tried to escape?”

  Julia nodded. “Three nights ago, a girl I have spoken with disappeared. When they called her name, no one could find her. She was still very popular in the yellow house, so I know they didn’t…” She paused. “I know she escaped. We have to try.”

  “Do you know which road to take? What about the guards?”

  “That’s another reason I need you. You know Sebastian?”

  “What’s he got to do with this?”

  “Sebastian is allowed to go everywhere on the ranch. He knows where the guards are. The other girl said he showed her, although she was sure he didn’t know he was helping her plan her escape. And, he goes into town with Master Garcia every week, so he knows the roads.”

  “Why do you need me for that?”

  “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Julia gave her a coy smile. “He would do anything you asked.”

  Chapter 30

  A light rain had fallen during the night, leaving cloudy, oil-streaked puddles in the low spots to match the cloying, humid air. After a quick breakfast, Leine and Grigori drove to the meet. The Russian didn’t display any ill effects from the ample amount of tequila he’d ingested the evening before, and acted chipper and raring to go. He suggested they leave early in order to check the location.

  “Turn left,” Leine told him, reading from the map as though she was traveling the route for the first time. Grigori followed her instructions and parked the Hummer a short distance from the warehouse.

  Leine slipped her 9mm into an ankle band while the Russian shrugged on a shoulder holster and pocketed the grenades. Grigori would keep the MP-5 with him, and Leine would take the money, locked inside a case. They both wore lightweight Kevlar vests under their clothes.

  She grabbed the case and proceeded to the warehouse. Grigori skirted the alley, remaining out of sight in case things went sideways. Zamir didn’t expect him, which worked in their favor.

  The rusty metal door was open, and Leine walked into the cavernous building. The overhead lights cast stark shadows on the rough concrete floor. A shiver spiraled up her spine from the unexpected coolness.

  A black GMC Yukon was parked on the left. To her right a metal stairway led to a door one floor up, and on the back wall was what looked like the door to a walk-in cooler. A man resembling Rutger Hauer wearing a buzz cut and a bad attitude rose from behind a table and drew his weapon, leveling a .45 at her. Leine raised her hands and scanned the warehouse for additional gunmen. There were none.

  Leine tensed, calculating the distance between them.

  “Take it easy, Rutger,” she said. “I’m expected. Nicholas sent me.”

  The man frowned at the reference.

  Apparently not much for watching TV or the movies, she thought.

  “What is your name?”

  “Leine Basso,” she replied. “And you are?”

  Buzz Cut relaxed his grip on the .45.

  “Zamir. You have the money?” he asked in accented English.

  Leine lowered her hands and set the case on the floor.

  “Right here,” she answered.

  Zamir pointed at the case with his gun.

  “Open it.”

  “As soon as I see the shipment.”

  Zamir grunted. “Wait here.”

  He strode to the back of the warehouse and opened the door, disappearing through a wall of plastic strips meant to keep the warm air out. A few moments later he returned carrying a blue and white hard-sided cooler, which he set on the floor between them.

  “I need to see the contents,” she said, foreboding stippling her spine.

  Zamir bent down and removed the cover. He reached inside and pulled a piece of Styrofoam off the top, revealing a plastic bag of red-tinged liquid underneath. Zamir lifted the bag out of the cooler and held it so she could see the contents. Inside were two brownish-pink kidneys. Appalled, she choked back the bile rising in her throat.

  Fucking Vlad. When neither Russian would describe the contents of the mystery shipment, she’d assumed it would be illegal.

  She hadn’t counted on brutal.

  She stiffened, acid burning the back of her throat. She could feel Zamir’s eyes on her, and she consciously relaxed her hands, forcing herself to breathe normally.

  Something the waiter said in Tijuana jogged her memory. When describing the Russian man at the bar with Josh, he mentioned white hair and light blue eyes and that he looked similar to an actor he’d seen before. This guy resembled a young Rutger Hauer—an older actor with white hair and light blue eyes. Although Zamir was Albanian, not Russian, an outsider unfamiliar with the two languages wouldn’t necessarily know the difference.

  Leine kept her expression impassive as events tumbled into place. Eastern Europeans in Tijuana. Josh, dead in his car with jagged gashes where his kidneys should have been. The shipment in the cooler. She smoothed her hand over her front pocket, feeling the small crystal bead she’d found in the street outside of the warehouse the night before.

  Elise.

  A loud commotion erupted behind Leine and she turned. Zamir looked up sharply as two men dressed in camouflage dragged Grigori through the door. The Russian lifted his head, revealing a bruised and bloody face with one eye partially swollen shut. Bloodstains marred his T-shirt and his holster was empty. One of the gunmen carried the MP-5, which he handed to Zamir.

  “Who is this?” Zamir asked.

  “We found him on the roof,” the taller gunman said. “He had a pocket filled with grenades and this.” He presented Grigori’s side arm.

  “He’s with me.” Leine said, unchecked anger bubbling to the surface. Calm down, Leine. Focus. “What the hell did you do to him?”

  Zamir waved her question away and narrowed his eyes, his expression cold.

  “Again I ask, who is this?” His voice dropped an octave.

  “He was making sure you didn’t ambush me and steal the money.” Leine nodded at Grigori. “Nicholas assured me that my associate would accompany me across the border with the shipment. If that isn’t what you were told, then I suggest we call our respective bosses and straighten this out, because I’m not doing this alone.”

  “You will not be alone.” Zamir turned toward the metal stairway leading to the second-floor landing and whistled. The door at the top of the stairs opened and two men dressed in fatigues with AK-47s slung over their shoulders filed out. They took the stairs to the ground floor and walked over to join him.

  “Hold on a minute,” Leine said, eyeing the gunmen. “No one said anything about company.”

  “And I was under the impression you would be alone.” Zamir shrugged. “Plans change.”

  Leine and Grigori exchanged glances. Nicholas hadn’t mentioned any of this to either of them. Which told her they meant to go as far as the border crossing, probably hijack the shipment, and kill them both.

  Why would Zamir and his gunmen go to all this trouble for just two kidneys? The amount he might gain wasn’t enough to warrant damaging his reputation in the criminal world. At most, one would fetch an additional twenty or thirty thousand above what Nicholas paid.

  Unless the recipient had a rare blood type.

  “Look. I realize Grigori wasn’t part of the deal, but Nicholas sent him to keep me and the shipment safe,” Leine continued. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it didn’t hurt to
make them think Nicholas wanted her alive, too. “Since I’m expected to go along on this little joyride, wouldn’t you feel better if you had another professional backing us up if things went sideways?”

  Zamir appeared to think over what she’d said. Leine noticed he didn’t seek agreement from the others, pegging him as the leader. She studied his body language, trying to get a read on him. Two against five wasn’t great odds, but doable if she could acquire a weapon. She was damned sure going to have words with Vlad when she got back.

  If she got back.

  “Is not healthy to make Nicholas angry,” Grigori said, his voice hoarse.

  Zamir raised the .45 and pointed it at Grigori’s head. “Is not healthy to make me angry, either.”

  He’s going to kill him. “Wait—” Leine said, trying to stall for time.

  One of the gunmen stepped forward and murmured in his ear. Zamir raised his chin.

  “Good point, Andre. This one will be worth top dollar on the open market,” he said, lowering his gun. “Search them both.”

  Andre handed his weapon to another gunman and walked up to Leine. He looked strong as did the other three. Deep scars crisscrossed his face and neck, marking him as a fighter. She glanced at Grigori. The look on his face told her he was working the odds, too.

  Andre pushed her arms out to the side and kicked her feet apart. Leine kept a neutral expression, trying not to wince. Though the gunshot wound was healing, it still hurt like a bitch.

  The guy was thorough. When he discovered the bandage on her upper arm, he lifted her sleeve. He motioned to Zamir, who was on the phone. Zamir ended the call and came over to investigate.

  “How did you get this?” Zamir asked, his expression unreadable.

  “It’s nothing. A dog bite.”

  Zamir studied her for a long moment. Leine kept her gaze steady. He muttered something and Andre resumed frisking her.

  Relief flowed through her. Zamir hadn’t ripped the bandage off to reveal the gunshot wound. Catching her in a lie this early would compromise them even more than they were. Although, the pat-down didn’t exactly give her the warm fuzzies.