Bad Traffick: A Leine Basso Thriller

by D. V. Berkom

  “For what?” Yuri asked, reaching for his gun.

  “For you to die.”

  Yuri caught the glint of Ned's semiautomatic as he pulled out his own and fired.

  Ned fell forward, tumbling down the stairwell, and came to a rest at Yuri's feet. Not waiting for the response sure to follow from the gunshot, he flew down the steps, jumped over the handrail and landed with a thud on the concrete landing before he exploded through the safety door into the parking garage.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  LEINE SNAPPED THE GUN MAGAZINE back into place. Additional ammunition went into the cargo pockets of her pants. She slipped Mara's picture into her jacket pocket, along with a copy of Selena's mug shot. If Miles still decided to ignore the obvious after she showed him the picture, then she would give up trying to convince him of the woman's guilt. The only reason she could come up with for his behavior was that as an actor he had an extraordinary ability to ignore reality. A dangerous trait, though one that apparently worked well on film.

  Just not in life.

  Not only did she need to keep Selena in her sights, Leine had to be ready to move quickly to help Mara if she showed at the event. Her main goal was to retrieve the young girl and get her to safety. Her secondary and tertiary goals were to immobilize Selena and/or the traffickers, and to keep Miles out of harm's way.

  She'd already run through possible scenarios but discarded most of them. In her experience, predetermined events rarely played out as expected. Take a crowd of people, add critical stressors and you had the elements for a major cluster. She would have to respond rapidly to emerging conditions unencumbered by false expectations.

  She picked up the leather bag with the guns she'd taken from her apartment, took one last look around her hotel room to make sure she'd gotten everything, then slipped out the door.

  A few minutes later, she exited the stairwell into the parking garage and headed for her new ride, a nondescript sedan with a supercharged Hemi motor. She scanned the area for anything out of place before dropping the bag on the garage floor near the trunk. She opened a side pocket, pulled out an angled mirror with a telescoping rod and ran it underneath the car, looking for explosives.

  Satisfied there was nothing attached to the underside of the car, she carefully opened the hood, first getting a visual with a flashlight, then running her fingertips around the edges to make sure there were no tripwires or pressure sensitive triggers installed while she was in the hotel room. She went through the drill each time she'd been away from her car.

  Better late than dead.

  After she investigated under the hood, paying particular attention to the wires leading to the starter, she did the same check on her trunk. Finding nothing suspicious, she opened it and placed the bag containing the weapons under a tarp. With every movement, the Kevlar she was wearing put pressure on her bruised ribs and she had to catch her breath. At least the vest stabilized her torso. That, and a shot of Toradol helped her push past the pain.

  Except for when she forgot about the injury and didn't guard her movements. Then the pain took her breath away.

  She knew the theater's layout, had visited the area that morning and memorized the position of every column, garbage can, doorway and building in case things went sideways.

  Leine added another primary objective to her mental checklist: to avoid gunfire in the populated venue. That wouldn't be easy if the traffickers turned up.

  She checked her watch. An hour and a half before the premiere. Time enough to work her way through security in order to speak to Miles. If that didn't work, she was prepared to slip the photograph to his bodyguard and ask that it be delivered to the actor with a note.

  She closed the trunk and went over the rest of the car before she came back to the driver's side and opened the door to get in.

  The noise wasn't loud. More like a faint scrape followed by a tiny shift in atmosphere, as though someone or something had moved behind her. Leine stiffened, straining to hear. She pivoted in the direction of the sound, hand moving to the nine millimeter in her shoulder holster. She drew her gun and waited, staring into the darkness of the garage, but saw nothing.

  Blood thudded in her ears. She shrugged her shoulders and cracked her neck to the side to ease the tension. Still wired, she returned the gun to the holster and climbed into the car.

  Leine emerged from the garage, turned right onto the shaded, tree-lined side street and headed for the freeway. Almost immediately, a dark-colored Mercedes Benz appeared in her rearview mirror. She took the next right, watching to see if the vehicle followed her. It drove past, continuing down the other street. She turned left twice and proceeded on a different route to the freeway.

  Stopped at a traffic light, she scanned the area for the Mercedes. Other than a couple of parked cars, there weren't any other vehicles in sight. The light turned green and she drove through the intersection. Two blocks later, she noticed a flash of black in her periphery. The dark-colored car barreled toward her on her right. She slammed the accelerator to the floor. The sedan shot forward and gathered speed. The Mercedes tracked her, coming up on the rear of the car, dangerously close to the bumper.

  Leine braced herself as the other car surged forward and clipped the back corner of the sedan. Not again. She yanked the steering wheel to the left and skidded around a corner, the Mercedes matching her move. It stayed with her on every turn. Instinctively, Leine mapped out a route in her head that took them away from heavily populated residential areas. The end result would put them in a semi-deserted neighborhood inhabited by the occasional tweaker in the few remaining ramshackle homes. Addicts tended to stay inside during the day.

  The person in the other car had to be another one of Eric's operatives. It was as though the driver intuited her every move and matched her maneuver for maneuver. He was good, she'd give him that. Rather than intimidate, the realization energized her. Taking him out would send a strong message to her ex-boss that whatever he tried, she'd counter. He'd no doubt work to pin this on her, too, so she was screwed either way. What did she have to lose?

  She entered the neighborhood with her senses on hyper-alert. The sedan screamed past the first home, a two-story wreck with peeling blue paint and no intact windows, the Mercedes a hair's breadth behind her. The vacant lot at the end of the avenue came into focus and Leine reached for the hand brake. She waited until the car cleared the last house, then wrenched the lever up and rammed the brake pedal to the floor.

  The sedan skidded into the turn, kicking up dust and rocks, and for a split-second obscured the other car's visual. As soon as the car stopped moving, Leine kicked open the door, dropped to the ground and took cover behind the rear wheel well, gun aimed over the trunk at the other car.

  The driver of the Mercedes ducked as the bullets from Leine's semiautomatic smashed into the Mercedes' windshield. Ignoring the searing pain in her side, Leine opened the trunk, grabbed the Uzi, and pocketed a grenade before the shooter had the chance to crawl out the passenger side. The torrent of bullets from the submachine gun finished the job on the windows, shattering the glass and scattering it everywhere.

  She continued to fire in short bursts from her position behind the car, pockmarking the Mercedes. When she dropped to a crouch to reload, she expected return fire. It didn't happen.

  “Who sent you?” Leine called out, as she snapped a fresh magazine into the grip of the Uzi. Her voice echoed in the emptiness of the lot. There was no response. She tried to slow her breathing, which proved difficult. Every inhalation was torture. “I know you're one of Eric's errand boys. Come out and show yourself. Or are you afraid to engage the enemy?”

  At the sound of rocks scattering, she stood and aimed, still protected by the car, waiting for signs of the other gunman. A low cough floated across the expanse between the two cars.

  “It appears I've underestimated you.”

  Leine froze at the voice. You're shitting me. “Eric?”

  “The one and only.”
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  Leine squinted, trying to get a bead on where he was in relation to the Mercedes. His shadow was barely visible near the other car's rear wheel. Not a clear shot. She needed to change her position. White-hot hatred for the man behind the Mercedes flowed through her, mixing with the adrenaline. She frowned in annoyance at the slight shake in her left hand. Control, Leine.

  “Decided to do the job yourself, eh?” she called, her voice cool and even. “I imagine losing the last guy you sent after me was a huge disappointment. Really, Eric,” Leine made a tsking sound. “He wasn't your best. I'm more than a little peeved you didn't think enough of me to send Barbara or Rolf.”

  “And why would I send my best to take out a rogue agent? Especially one who's obviously rusty.”

  “Who says I'm rusty? And why the hell didn't you try to take me out in the garage? I mean, it worked out well for me, but honestly, it would have been better odds.” She paused, then added, “Maybe you're the rusty one.”

  “In your younger days you wouldn't have missed.”

  Leine stretched her neck to the side before answering. “In my younger days, I would've gotten a full dossier on my target and had time to plan.” She slid down behind the car, leaving just enough of herself exposed in order to get a good shot if he moved.

  “Yeah, those were good times, huh, Leine? God, the money was fantastic. I would've cut you in on the deals if you'd asked.”

  This time Leine laughed, but there was no mirth. “Is that why you had me kill Carlos and fed lies to my daughter? So I'd be willing to look the other way? You're five steps below a mercenary, Eric. At least mercenaries admit to having an allegiance only to money. You cloak yourself in the fabric of patriotism.” Her spike of anger had leveled and she welcomed the clarity it brought. “I have to say that did a number on my head for a while, but when you took the most precious thing I'd ever known and crushed it without a thought for me or those I loved, I finally got it. That's when I left.”

  “And took Carlos' files with you.”

  “A girl's gotta have a little security. Leaving the Agency alive wasn't an option.”

  Leine peered over the hood at the sound of gravel shifting beside his car. Why hadn't he made his move yet? She didn't have all damn day. “Looks like we're at a standoff. What do you want to do?”

  He paused for a moment before answering, his ragged breathing audible in the silent afternoon. “It appears one of your bullets found a home in my shoulder and I'm having trouble raising my arm.” He coughed again. “This isn't a fair fight, Leine. How about we each go our separate ways, come back and do this another time?”

  Sure. “I don't think so, Eric. But while I've got you here, can you answer something for me? You've been working pretty hard to pin those three murders on me, and it appeared to be working. Why try to kill me now? Unless...” Leine paused before continuing. The answer was obvious. “Did your boss have a problem with the second set of files, Eric?” Her question was met with silence. “Well, damn. They must have finally made it through whatever firewall you set up. With me dead, there's no way to verify the origin of the documents. You'd have a much easier time convincing your bosses the file is the creation of a deranged agent bent on revenge. All you'd have to say is that I came after you and you had to kill me.”

  “It's not like you have a lot to live for,” he said, his oily tone sliding over her like a viscous poison. “Your daughter doesn't need you—she's on her own. Been that way for some time. Quite the independent woman. And, Mr. Tall Dark Detective sure as hell won't jeopardize his career to be with an ex-assassin. A man who, by the way, reminds me a lot of Carlos. Is that why you were attracted to him?”

  “Fuck off.” He'd been watching.

  “Touchy, touchy. Did I hit a nerve? How does your resume play in the boudoir? I'll bet he has a hard time getting it up. I mean, you killed people for a living—and were quite good at it, too. Doesn't that give him pause? Especially since he took an oath to uphold the law.”

  Leine clenched her jaw in an effort to stop the sarcastic comment that sprang to her lips. She didn't need to sink to his level. What she needed was to end this, now.

  “Leave Santiago Jensen and my daughter out of it. I wonder whose budget paid for the surveillance? Neither of them are official Agency targets, right?” She waited for an answer, but none came. “This is between you and me, Eric. Let's finish up. I need to be somewhere.”

  More silence.

  Leine skirted the front corner of the sedan, keeping her eye on the shadow next to the rear wheel well. She debated whether to use the grenade, but at the last minute decided against it. It would have made her feel better, yes, but local law enforcement wouldn't be able to ignore the explosion like they could gunfire in this section of town. As it was, there'd be questions when they recovered the Mercedes. Questions she wouldn't be around to answer.

  She crossed the gap between the two vehicles and stopped near the trunk of the Mercedes. Holding the gun in front of her, she eased around the car.

  Eric sat slumped against the wheel, breathing heavily, his black suit coat skewed around his chest, one leg bent at an angle, the other stretched in front of him. His reddish-blond hair was slicked back from his boyish, clean-shaven face, giving him the appearance of a much younger man, except for the lines around his hazel-colored eyes. Leine's gaze stopped at where he'd shoved his left fist into his armpit in an attempt to stanch the flow of blood now saturating his shirt.

  “You weren't lying,” she said. “Except about me missing.”

  Eric's smile looked closer to a grimace. “Yeah. Can you beat that?” He glanced down at the gunshot wound, then squinted up at Leine. “You're looking well.”

  “Thanks.” Leine kicked his gun out of his reach and pointed hers at his head.

  “You might as well shoot. I'm dead, anyway.” Eric's breathing had become more ragged and he winced as he shifted position. “Can you do it soon? This hurts like a mother.” He eyed the grenade. “You always did like explosions.” His attempt at laughter turned into a hacking cough. Leine could tell it cost him.

  “Not enough to end your suffering.”

  Eric leaned his head back and looked at the sky. The skin on his face looked gray, his life ebbing. “Oh, c'mon, Leine. For old time's sake? I'd consider it an honor. Dispatched by the great Leine Basso.”

  “Flattery never worked on me before. Why try now?” Leine bent down and placed the grenade in the hand of his bad arm. His fingers curled around it, his palm against the safety lever. He closed his eyes, lips contorted in a smile.

  “Say hello to the Frenchman,” Leine said, and walked back to her car.

  She'd driven halfway down the block when the explosion cracked through the neighborhood, the sound ricocheting off the wall of a nearby home. Pieces of twisted metal arced in the air and fell to the ground. Leine slowed the car and watched the Mercedes burn, spewing black smoke into the sky. The horizon flickered like a mirage from the heat. The front door of one of the houses swung open and a cadaverous woman with hollow eyes rimmed by dark circles walked onto the decrepit porch, blinking in the sunlight, confusion evident on her face.

  Leine stared at the flames for a few seconds more, then proceeded to the end of the street and turned right.

  She didn't look back.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  MILES STARED OUT THE WINDOW of the limo as gray clouds gathered in the distance, thinking about his life. The afternoon had turned unseasonably cool and the threat of rain put him in a pensive mood. He thought of the people who would come to see him, especially the kids, standing outside in shitty weather while he said some words and shook a few hands. Jesus, what was he doing? The fame and money had been fun for a while, but he'd felt alive for the first time in his life when he thought he had a family to care for. Like he was part of something larger than himself.

  Otherwise, what the hell was the point? He could only spend so much money. If he quit making movies right now, he'd have more than enough to liv
e, and live well until he died, no matter how old he got. He looked over at Jean, sitting on the other side of the limo, thumbing through a magazine. She'd been silent since they left the house. Miles didn't try to strike up a conversation with her. There was nothing to say. He'd allowed her to come along this last time. After that, she was on her own.

  His chest tightened as he fought back the hurt and anger. Her deceit was unforgivable. Miles thought about Jarvis, and how he'd let Miles down that night at the bar when the two assholes picked a fight and he'd disappeared. Jean's betrayal cut much deeper. Sure, he'd considered Jarvis family, but he'd believed Jean was his blood.

  Miles smoothed the lapels of his suit as the limo pulled to the curb in front of the theater amid a throng of screaming fans. He glanced at Jean as she checked her makeup in her compact mirror and shook his head.

  “You can ride around and come in through the back. I don't want you on the carpet with me.” He cast a meaningful glance at his new bodyguard, Thad. Thad lifted his chin in acknowledgement.

  Jean stopped primping and nodded, her eyes downcast. “Sure, Miles. I appreciate you letting me come to the premiere. I know Mara's going to show up. I can feel it.”

  “I hope so, for her sake.” Miles pressed a button and the glass divider between the driver and the back of the limo lowered. “Can you take Jean around to the rear entrance, Joe?” Joe nodded. Miles turned and, without a backward glance at Jean, pasted on a broad smile as he climbed out to greet his fans, with Thad close behind.

  ***

  As the car glided by the crowd gathered in front of the theater, Selena took her phone from her pocketbook, touched the screen and held it to her ear, waiting for the other party to answer.

  “We're here. He wants me to come in through the back. What should I do?” she asked when they answered.