by Berkom, DV
A Killing Truth
A Leine Basso Thriller Prequel
DV Berkom
A Killing Truth
A Leine Basso Thriller Prequel
Copyright © 2016 by D.V. Berkom
Published by
First eBook edition March 2016
All rights reserved.
Cover by Deranged Doctor Design
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, event or occurrence, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
To find out more about DV and her books, go to dvberkom.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
A Killing Truth (Leine Basso Thriller)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
A deadly assassin. A perpetual target. The double-cross she never saw coming...
Some say the truth will set you free, but what if it kills you first?
Before serial killers and drug cartels, Leine Basso faced the ultimate betrayal...
Leine eliminates terrorists for a living. After a routine assassination almost gets her killed, she chalks it up to a fluke. Her lover and fellow assassin, Carlos, has another idea altogether. He thinks their boss is setting them up for a fall.
When Carlos goes missing and a bombing thwarts another mission, she suspects the stakes are far higher than she could ever imagine, and wonders if the man in charge might have it in for her after all...
Chapter 1
October 2006—Eastern Europe
Leine checked her watch as she waited for the target to emerge from the concrete block building. Practical as only Soviet-style architecture could be, nevertheless the crumbling façade gave the impression of faded power, like a once-famous tenor now down on his luck and sucking on throat lozenges in order to save his voice.
She’d wait five minutes longer and then leave if Igor Glushenko didn’t show. There was no sense freezing her ass if her quarry decided to take his time with his mistress. Besides, she wasn’t completely on board with Eric’s instructions. There were other, less intrusive ways to fulfill the contract, and it made her wonder why her boss had chosen her for the job.
The cool air was damp from the recent squall that had just blown through the ancient city, the resultant mist hiding a few of the cars below her as though an unseen hand had intentionally obscured the block for effect. She glanced through the rifle sight once more and made a minor correction.
Ah, the glamorous life of a jet-setting assassin.
Leine inhaled and released her breath slowly, watching the condensation evaporate in the air before her.
And waited.
She didn’t enjoy this part of her work. Leine had fought her impulsive and impatient nature all her life. But the extraordinary self-discipline she’d gained as a result had made her one of the best in her field. The majority of her colleagues went for the expedient solution, never considering the far-reaching implications of their choices, like political fallout and instability. They preferred to leave those problems to the higher ups. Leine thought through every action, treating each job like a chess match she was determined to win. By staying several steps ahead of her competition, she minimized blowback.
But with notoriety came frustration. Although her services were in demand, jobs had become more complicated and she found herself entering a gray area where the result wasn’t necessarily what it seemed. Before, she’d been able to justify her actions without an assassin’s guilt keeping her awake. Yes, she killed for a living, but her targets were the lowest of the low. She used to eliminate criminals who, if allowed to continue, would gladly take down the United States and her allies, or kill innocents in their quest for power.
And now? Now she questioned the direction her boss, Eric, was taking the Agency, whether the motivation for her assignments had more to do with greed.
The hair on her neck prickled her skin and she scanned the surrounding rooftops, making sure she was alone.
Just then, the front door to the building across the street opened. Wearing an expensive leather coat, a heavyset bear of a man emerged, flanked by two armed gunmen. After a brief reconnaissance of the block, they headed for a black SUV parked at the curb. The target was smiling. Clearly, he’d had a good session with his mistress.
Igor Glushenko will die a happy man today.
“Target in sight,” she said into her mic, her voice low.
“Copy that,” came the reply.
Leine dropped her head, the sniper rifle snug against her shoulder, and sighted in for the shot. A woman wearing a long skirt with her shirt unbuttoned to her navel appeared in the doorway, waving what looked like a silk cravat. The target turned and smiled. Leine’s finger rested lightly on the trigger as she tracked Glushenko through the scope.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“Problem?” her handler, Lou, asked.
“The mistress. I’m going to wait to take the shot.” The fewer witnesses, the better.
“Your call,” Lou answered.
Glushenko’s grin could only be described as licentious as he grabbed the woman around the waist with one arm and pawed at her breasts with his free hand. The woman’s giggles were loud enough to reach Leine’s ears.
C’mon, already. Go back inside, but leave Glushenko.
She’d been tempted to call off the job. Nothing had felt right from the start. From Eric’s unusual request that she set up on a rooftop across the street from where the Russian’s mistress lived—Leine preferred to work in a less conventional manner to keep the target’s security off guard—to the directive to use a rifle to take Glushenko out. Normally weapons were the operative’s choice.
Glushenko’s security detail, two tall, muscle-bound men wearing tailored black suits and carrying machine guns, looked on with wide grins. The driver’s door of the SUV opened and a man wearing expensive-looking aviator sunglasses emerged, his annoyance apparent by his deep frown. He gestured to one of Glushenko’s security guards, who nudged the other, nodding toward the two lovebirds.
While the guard attempted to speed their farewell, the driver turned and scanned the rooftops. He appeared to hesitate near the spot Leine had set up and she froze. She was certain he couldn’t see her, but the earlier unease she’d been feeling had her spooked. He cocked his head to the side like a golden retriever being told something it didn’t understand, then raised his hand and said something into his sleeve. A second later he started toward the front door of the building below her. She keyed the mic, sending a signal to both Lou and Carlos that she needed a diversion, and quickly scanned the neighboring rooftops again.
As though on cue, Carlos rounded the corner, head down and bouncing along with his iPod, earbud wires sprouting like anemic spaghetti from his ears. Immediately on point, Glushenko’s men reached for their weapons.
> Mid-street, the driver turned to assess the intruder. As Carlos came closer, the guards stepped in front of him, barring his way. Carlos looked up, surprise on his face, working the I-didn’t-see-you angle. One of Glushenko’s men pushed him and barked an order. The driver said something into his sleeve again, then turned and headed toward the group on the sidewalk.
Leine slid backward, taking the rifle with her. When she was far enough away that she could stand and not be seen from the street, she closed the lens covers on the scope, collapsed the rifle’s bipod, and broke down the gun so it would fit in her duffle bag. She then quietly opened the door to the stairwell and descended.
When she reached the metal door leading outside she removed her ear mic and paused to listen.
Nothing.
She dropped the mic into her bag and opened the door to check for passersby. Not seeing anyone, she stepped into the alley and stopped to shift the duffel bag onto her shoulder.
The round hit the wall centimeters from her head. Bits of concrete sprayed her cheek. Leine dove inside the building as another bullet slammed into the metal door.
Sniper.
She scanned the area, searching for the best exit.
A door banged open at the front of the building, accompanied by the sound of footsteps pounding toward her.
Glushenko’s men.
Heart racing, she scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the stairs, taking two at a time. At the first landing she paused to catch her breath. Four corridors radiated outward from the central staircase, each hallway consisting of a dozen or more apartments.
She continued up the staircase and veered onto floor five, taking the easternmost hallway, far from the sniper’s position. Several recessed doors with apartment numbers stood on either side of the corridor. Two of the ceiling lights had burned out, leaving the area in partial shadow. Cardboard covered a window at the end of the passage, a fast fix-it job to keep out the cold. Footsteps echoed up the staircase as her assailants closed in.
Leine slid the pistol from her holster, screwed on the suppressor, and shot out the remaining lights, plunging the hall into darkness. Letting the duffel bag fall to the floor, she crossed the now-dark hall, moving to a doorway several apartments closer to the window. She dropped to one knee in a modified crouch and pulled up the hood of her jacket. The black material matched her clothes, giving her a semblance of camouflage.
The footsteps stopped at her floor, followed by silence. Leine breathed in slowly and let it out, calming the adrenaline dump. She aimed the gun.
Steady.
Whispers drifted toward her as a shadow fell across the floor near the entrance to the hall, then slid from view. Two gunmen ghosted up the steps, heading for the next level. Seconds later there was a pop and the fifth floor landing grew dark.
Couldn’t be the sniper. Not if he’d set up on an opposing roof. There hadn’t been enough time. And she doubted it was Glushenko’s driver. Someone had to stay back and protect the Russian.
A third gunman?
Leine waited.
A minute passed. And then another.
Then two more.
Still she waited. Motionless. Listening. She lost track of time.
There.
The third gunman shifted position. The sound was barely a whisper. Right side, near the hallway entrance.
It wouldn’t be long.
Minutes later—two? ten?—the murky silhouette of a man’s profile materialized at the end of the hallway as he peered around the corner. Leine tracked his movements, reining in her impatience.
His head swiveled in the gloom as he scanned the hallway, his gaze appearing to linger on the dark shape of the duffel bag. Leine remained still, finger on the trigger, the cramp in her right knee screaming at her to move.
The man eased around the corner, gun leading the way as he hugged the wall. Leine fired two rounds in rapid succession. The man’s head snapped back and hit the wall with a thud, and his body slid to the floor. There was a brief pause, and then shouts and footsteps erupted on the floor above her, the echoes exploding down the stairwell.
Leine sprinted to the bag, picked it up, and raced to the window. She ripped the cardboard away and threw the duffel onto the fire escape before diving through the opening. Shots pinged off the metal railing, and she rolled to one side. She spun around and came up in a crouch, then glanced through the window.
Glushenko’s bodyguards advanced toward her, one on each side of the hall. She emptied her gun into the hallway, and both men dove for cover. She got lucky and hit the larger one in the shoulder. Leine ducked behind the wall to reload. A spray of bullets erupted from their AK-47s, slamming into the concrete next to the window. Ejecting the spent mag, Leine jacked in a full one and waited for a pause in the action. Her back to the wall, she rotated and aimed through the window.
The second man went down, a bullet to the throat. Gun in his left hand, the larger one squeezed off a round, but it went wide. This time, Leine hit center mass and the big guy toppled to the floor. An apartment door cracked open, but quickly closed.
Five minutes later, Leine was in a taxi on her way to the hotel and her rendezvous with Carlos. She leaned her head back on the seat and took long, slow, deep breaths until her heart rate returned to normal.
The sniper in the alley had been waiting for her.
Her hand trembled from the residual adrenaline as she punched Lou’s number into her phone.
“Hey, Lou, checking in.”
“Took you a while,” he answered. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, there was a slight delay, but I’m almost to the hotel.” She eyed the taxi driver, who glanced at her in the rearview mirror and then quickly looked away.
Leine didn’t normally use a spotter, but Carlos had just finished a job in Italy and offered his services when she’d voiced her concerns about the target. He flew in the night before and they discussed the job over dinner. Whereas Carlos was ground support, Lou worked remotely, observing via satellite feed and the ubiquitous security cameras found all over Europe. Having ties to the US government did have its perks.
After a circuitous route designed to throw off even the most persistent tracker, the taxi driver dropped her at the door to the touristy hotel. She went up to her room, using the stairs once she was sure no one waited for her in the lobby. Before entering, she checked the “tell” she placed at the top of the door to see if someone had been inside the room in her absence. It was still intact. Once inside, she added extra security to the door by installing a portable lock.
The half-finished bottle of red wine on the desk beckoned. She poured herself a glass and sat in a chair near the bed.
Not only had there been a sniper covering her exit, but she was certain Glushenko’s driver knew she was on the roof. If she hadn’t stopped to shift the bag to her other shoulder, there was a good possibility she’d be dead. Clearly, she’d been compromised. But by whom?
Fifteen minutes and a glass and a half of wine later, three knocks followed by two more sounded at the door. Leine let Carlos in and re-secured the locks. He crossed the room, corralling the bottle and a clean glass before sliding the other chair next to hers to sit down. She took her seat as he divvied up the rest of the wine and raised his glass in a toast.
“To your instincts.”
Leine touched her glass to his and took a drink. “You could say that.” She recounted the events of the ambush.
Carlos leaned forward and checked her over. “You’re all right?”
Leine nodded.
“Why didn’t you call for help?”
“No time. I removed the comm.” She sighed, took another drink. “Any ideas?” she asked.
“Could be you pissed someone off.” He stared at the glass in his hand. “Could be Eric.”
“Eric.” Leine frowned. “You think he wants me dead?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s an open secret we’re together.” Carlos grimaced. “Like I told you last night. Th
ings are changing. And not for the better.”
“You said you had proof of what he was doing. Where?”
“Storage locker on the ground floor of my building. The key’s well hidden. Number nine.”
Carlos had been collecting intelligence on the director of the clandestine agency for several months and was close to sending the incriminating evidence to Eric’s superior, Scott Henderson.
“Are you sure you’re not just making assumptions about his involvement?” If their boss wanted her dead because of her association with Carlos, then Carlos’s claims of Eric’s illicit dealings made sense.
Carlos nodded. “Pretty damn sure. I realize what we do is supposed to stay under the radar, but the jobs he’s been taking on the side go way beyond that. Not what I signed up for.” He finished his wine and stood.
Carlos and Leine, along with a select group of others, were considered elite black ops for an organization known simply as the Agency. The name similarity to the Central Intelligence Agency was intentional. A shadow organization of highly skilled assassins tasked with removing targets who threatened the United States or her allies, the organization’s objectives were government sanctioned but strictly on a need-to-know basis. They rarely worked with the CIA or NSA, preferring to operate in a fluid environment that the operatives referred to as the Shadowland. Carlos believed that, along with actual jobs the Agency was legitimately tasked to do, Eric was using the group for illicit and mercenary purposes without their knowledge.
“We’re not terrorists for hire,” Carlos muttered. “Eric needs a refresher on the Mission Statement.”
Leine drained the rest of her wine and set the glass on the nightstand. “Are you close to letting Henderson know?”
“Soon. One more sweep should do it.” By sweep, Carlos meant hacking into Eric’s personal computer to do one last scan of its contents.
“Just be careful to cover your tracks. You know Eric changes up his security settings—you don’t want to be caught in one of his traps.”
“I’ve got it handled. He won’t suspect anything.” Carlos gave her a slow, sexy smile, a shank of dark hair falling across his face. “Hungry?” he asked.