The Trafficker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  As Fuerza neared the office, he read KÖNIG INTERNATIONAL on the small placard that jutted out into the hallway just above the door. He slowed his pace but didn’t stop. Can’t hear anything from inside. Taking his visual focus off the sign, he saw two pieces of priceless intel. Cameras. We’re in the right place.

  Continuing to the end of the hallway, Fuerza disappeared into a stairwell and retrieved his cellphone. He sent a quick text to update Negro, and then pulled the door ajar just enough to see the office door of his new target. Gotta know if the African comes back out before I’m ready for him. Approaching footsteps announced his partner’s arrival, and that Negro had followed directions this time. Now we’re ready for him to leave so we can go to work on the office.

  February 17, 09:27am

  König’s Office. Vienna, Austria.

  Alfred had just unlocked the door to let Altüss back out into the hallway. The door’s internal hinge springs took several seconds to pull it closed.

  thuck

  When the door’s magnetic and mechanical locks engaged, Alfred turned his focus back to the white side of his business operations. He opened an email from the president of a regional Greek yogurt manufacturer and-

  knockknock

  The soft raps on his door surprised Alfred. He gripped the pistol concealed beneath his desk and turned his chair to face the door. Altüss never comes back. Alfred slid his chair over just enough that he could open his surveillance monitor drawer.

  knockknockknock

  Alfred glanced up at the additional raps for a moment, and then stared at the man displayed on his surveillance monitors. Who the hell is that? He’d never seen the foreigner before, but knew the man was younger than twenty-five, maybe even under twenty-one. He’s dark skinned, but not African, maybe Mediterranean. Short enough that he’s probably poor and malnourished, or grew up that way, and that means he’s desperate. Perhaps this is another of Stefanie’s hired urchins?

  knock

  knock

  knock

  With his unknown and unwelcome visitor refusing to go away on his own, Alfred pulled on the H&K’s grip hard enough to release it from the two magnets that held it in place beneath his desk. Whatever he wants, it’s not intended for my benefit. While keeping the pistol pointed at the doorway, Alfred sidestepped over to his bookcase, opened the covert entrance, and locked himself inside the ballistically protected storage room. He set the suppressed pistol on the central granite counter next to his suppressed rifle and turned on the three surveillance monitors on the room’s west wall. If he forces it, I’ve got enough weaponry in here to make this his last mistake. The dark-skinned stranger held his ear to the door but seemed to have stopped knocking. After another few minutes, he stepped back from König’s door and looked up at both surveillance cameras before sauntering toward the elevators.

  Alfred used the monitors’ touchscreen commands to review that morning’s video footage. Altüss was followed. A short Latin man, the one who knocked on his door, walked past his office only a dozen seconds after he’d admitted Altüss. The man had glanced at both cameras, so Alfred saved still images of him from both angles. When Altüss departed, another Latin male, this one much darker than the first, had followed several seconds behind his African distributor. Another dozen seconds and the Latino started knocking.

  This is a problem I don’t need right now. Are they here because Altüss failed to keep his work secret and secure, or do they have something to do with Santa Lena? More important than who they are, what do these assholes want? Alfred stared at the still image of the tail. If I alert Altüss to their presence, any resulting violence will draw out the police. If they harm or kill him, I’ll have to find another distributor, but they aren’t able to get to me. With less than seventy-two hours to the next exchange, how am I supposed to address all these uncertain threats?

  February 17, 09:31am

  Royal Opera House. Vienna, Austria.

  Rogelio walked south on the sidewalk along the east side of Operngasse. He looked at each car and driver that cruised past him on the southbound one-way street. His recent haircut, clean-shaven face, black Armani overcoat, and matching single-breasted suit ensured that he belonged in that area, at least as far as anyone else could tell. You can do anything you want, as long as you blend in.

  Rogelio glanced at the African when he drove past in his brown delivery van, but the man didn’t notice his gaze. Of course not, he’s got no training and König should never have chosen to partner with him. An elderly white male driver in a white Mercedes coupe followed the van. No. A young Sikh passed in a yellow Saab. No. Two Hispanic men, both under twenty-five with distinctive neck and face tattoos passed in an older Renault. That’s them! Rogelio stared at the men and their car to memorize everything he could.

  As though he sensed Rogelio’s presence, the driver glanced left and made eye contact. Rogelio recognized the violence and disdain behind his dark eyes and the brazen tattoos he wore to intimidate weaker men. A kindred spirit. A peacock, yes, but a kindred spirit, none the less. Unafraid, he held the man’s glare as they both continued south. Their differing speeds soon forced them to break contact, but Rogelio had learned all he needed to know.

  He continued south until the Renault disappeared from sight, still three cars behind the delivery van. So, it is true that Mara Salvatrucha’s operating in central Europe. M-S-13. It doesn’t matter if they’re trying to protect the drugs inside the van on König’s behalf, or if they’re trying to rip him off. If those prison monkeys are smart enough to find König and his drugs, or he’s dumb enough to hire them, then the Austrian police, Interpol, and the D-E-A won’t be far behind. Rogelio sighed, already regretting all the work that now had to be done. I have less than three days until the shipment arrives, and I have to get men in place to take my money from König and kill him for his failures. This is all so much easier and immediate at home. Back in Mexico, I could have this resolved before lunch. I’ll need much more time than that here.

  February 18, 12:14PM

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Seated in his usual daytime spot, with the room’s plush leather chair pushed back by the door to watch König’s office across the street, Michael rolled out the tension in his neck and shoulders. Damned bellhop. I’ve been on house arrest ever since that asshole ratted me out to König. The irony forced a smug grin onto his face. He scanned the spacious room and its exquisite furnishings. I’m getting paid to stay here. “There are far worse places to be on lockdown, so I’m grateful for that.”

  Michael filled his boredom by contemplating the continued morality of his past and future intended actions. Another benefit of answering to God is that I don’t want or need the approval of secular governments. Men can cry for the deceased monster I absolve, all the while ironically gnashing their teeth and calling for my head. Regardless of what happens here on Earth, I’ll one day meet God with a clear conscience and open heart. My work can help set right some failures the laws of men have created. Every derelict soul I send for judgment saves dozens, maybe even hundreds of victims from pain, misery, and suffering. The criminal justice system can say whatever it wants about my work. If I stay focused, meticulous, and righteous, then they’ll have no reason to suspect or search for me. Should it someday become useful to God for me to serve him from prison, so be it. There’s plenty of work to be done in there as well. Michael sighed. Am I trying to convince myself I’m right?

  Michael’s smartphone announced a new text message. He set the expensive binos on the low glass coffee table next to him and checked his phone. John. My favorite antagonist.

  “Busy? Gotta talk now.”

  The last eighteen hours had offered little to occupy Michael’s mind, which had revisited his deep-seated cynicism. He tried to put aside the uncertainties about his boss and the unknown minders that John answered to in their clandestine organization. It’s one thing to question what he says and does when I’m safe at home. Out here on assignment,
I have to put my faith in the man’s words and deeds. Michael needed to find out what his boss had learned but wished it could be done without interacting with him.

  Michael opened his security app and confirmed the phone’s VPN was active. It never turned off, but he’d become paranoid about ensuring it was operating when he needed it. It’s either working, or I’m in real trouble. There’s nothing more dangerous than the perception of security. Michael used a VOIP phone app to dial his boss. He answered after the first ring.

  “You there, shithead?” John’s gruff baritone expressed only three emotions: rage, disappointment, and impatience. Today, it was impatience.

  “Yeah, boss, what’s up?”

  “Got your intel dump back, you sittin’ down?”

  “That’s all I’ve done for the last two days. It hasn’t been worth the risk to leave the room, so I’ve been going stir-crazy waiting for the delivery. I tell you, John, these Armani chairs are gonna give me hemorrhoids if I don’t get outta here soon.”

  “Armani don’t make chairs, dumbass. My desk nerds did a shitload-a diggin’ on your delivery guy, the U-P-S-wannabe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This may not surprise you, given your background in uniform, but the company’s a front.”

  “You don’t say.” Michael picked the binos back up and watched König work at his desk while John spoke. “Tell me something I didn’t tell you to begin with.”

  “So, the company itself is legit. The owner’s from the Republic of South Sudan and he landed in Austria with a group of refugees a few years back. Looks like he’s an educated man, a dentist, it turns out, but he ain’t been able to do anything but menial labor since he showed up in Vienna. Until he got this delivery company started, anyhow.”

  “Alright. That’s news. Didn’t expect that.”

  “According to the papers he filed to get his state benefits, he ain’t never had two pennies to rub together, but, somehow, had the cash-on-hand to pay for all his business licenses and equipment to start Austria Expedited, which claims to be a local document and parcel delivery service in Lower Austria.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  John scoffed. “Which part?”

  “Lower Austria?”

  “The east end of the country, away from the Alps. Pick up a book or map once in a damned while, especially if you’re on assignment somewhere.”

  Michael let a prolonged silence speak for him.

  “Anyhow,” John continued, “he’s kept on gettin’ state benefits and his tax papers show the company’s barely gettin’ by. All my organized crime guys’re tellin’ me the man’s on the take somewhere. According to his address and the cost of living in Vienna, he’s upside down. The man’s feeding five or six people on about $300 a month. So, it’s all bullshit. He would-a closed shop and sold the van if that was true, but, somehow, he’s still payin’ rent and keepin’ the lights turned on.”

  “I’d love to sit down and hear about all your intel resources. That’s the same kinda info that I could’ve dig up in my past life.”

  “My sources are need-to-know, shithead. If we ever get so desperate that you have to try to fill these shoes, I guess you’ll get to peek behind that particular curtain.”

  Michael glanced back at König through the binos. No change. “Anything’s possible.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, doc says I got a good fifty years left.”

  “Who’s your P-C-P? Doctor Seuss?”

  “Alright, funny man. You get your care package?”

  Michael glanced over to the bed where he’d placed the parcel when the concierge had delivered it to his room earlier. A small thin white plastic square no wider than his thumbnail sat atop the cardboard box in which it arrived. “Yeah, just about an hour ago. Thanks for doing that. Still can’t install it for another few hours, though.”

  “Hope it helps. Anything else I can do for you? You’re kinda runnin’ outta time on this one. You ain’t gonna drop the ball, are you? I can’t have two ‘Londons’ sucking up my resources and personnel.”

  “Working on it. If your device works, I oughta have an answer one way or the other.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight, if everything goes right.”

  “Check in with me later. I want a status report on the device before you go back in. If this comes up blank, I’m gonna hafta see about diverting personnel to the port on pretty damned short notice. We’re not really equipped for that, but there’s too many lives at stake to sit around wringing our goddamned hands and wishing things were different.”

  “Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

  “You know how to hunt snakes, Andrew.” John paused and Michael realized he hadn’t heard his Apostolic pseudonym for a while. “If he’s the snake we think he is, and you give him the right bait, his instincts’ll take over and he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll show you what he really is if you give him the chance. I knew this was gonna be a tough assignment, and I picked you ‘cause I knew you were up to it. Don’t make me look bad for believin’ in you.”

  “Copy that.” Michael didn’t know what to think of John’s sporadic compliments. Feels like ‘To Build a Fire,’ he thought as he brought the binos back up to his eyes. “Anything else? I gotta get back to watching him do nothing for a few more hours.”

  “Anybody that says stakeouts’re fun ain’t never been on one. Keep your wits about you, and don’t get complacent. I don’t believe the Church’s got a prison mission in Austria, and I’d damned sure hate to see you hafta start one.”

  Michael snickered beneath the binos. “Yeah, that makes two of us.” The call disconnected, and he set the phone on his lap. König does a shitload of paperwork for a man that’s running an illegal business. Michael pulled the binos away and looked out at König’s building. Maybe the desk-nerds were right. He’s gotta create a shitload of forged invoices to account for the transactions and customers he claims to have. That’s why Lloyd's could have given him a high rating. He’d have to have also opened a bunch of front companies that he could bill. He deposits money through online accounts from the front company, pays himself with checks from König International, and as long as no one looks that deep into the fronts, he’s laundering his own drug money. Damn. That might work, at least for a while.

  Michael stood up and stiffly walked over to a counter between the bathroom and living area where the in-room coffee pot sat. He dropped his last tea bag into a coffee-ringed cup and poured hot water over it. Gotta call down and have the coffee and tea refilled later tonight so Mister Helpful Bellhop doesn’t deliver them.

  He stood and stared at König’s office window while the mug warmed his hands. I need to photograph all König’s documents when I go back over tonight. It won't get us the answers I need in the next day, but they might come in handy if this thing goes into overtime. The dirty delivery driver helps bolster the wife’s allegations against König, but it’s not enough for me to take any action. Gotta find irrefutable evidence of real evil first, and I’m not even close to that yet.

  Michael looked at the clock and realized he should be hungry. Not ready to eat. I’ll recite the afternoon prayers and then get lunch delivered. With any luck, I can eat another meal without having the hotel staff incite an international incident. A wry smile crossed his face. That bellhop could see to it that I start a Catholic prison ministry, after all.

  February 18, 2:21PM

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Michael sat in his hotel room and continued to watch König’s office. With nothing else productive to do until his target left work and returned to his hotel suite, Michael pressed onward with his stakeout. It’s possible that I’m not up to catching König. He’s had years to perfect his trafficking operations, his hiding places, his security protocols. Pretty similar to my past life as a street cop. We didn’t catch the smart ones there, either. With all his intellect, money, and influence throughout the region, König’s got access to resources and asse
ts most men don’t even realize exist.

  He stiffly rose from the chair and stretched. I can step away for a minute or two. If he leaves for the day, I’ll get up to his suite before König even hits the sidewalk. If he doesn’t come straight back here, though, I have little chance of getting down to Operngasse in time to follow him anywhere else. Another reason why teams work better for this.

  Setting the binoculars down on the coffee table, Michael stepped over to the counter and drained what little coffee remained in a room service carafe there. It had long ago gone cold, but he’d run out of tea bags and wasn’t in a choosy mood. Gulping at the cool blackness, Michael stared across the street at his target’s windows. If I can’t uncover what we need from his hidden room by myself, then John might have to reconsider our protocols. I’m gonna need to take up that cross on another day though, after I know what’s possible tonight.

  Michael returned to his seat and resumed his mundane task. König’s thermal image stood, stretched, and tidied up the desk. He strode over to the office corner closest to Michael and stood in front of the bookcases for a moment. König raised his hand up against the wall for a few seconds, then swung a concealed door into a cold, black space behind his office. He must have turned off the heat in there, that room’s black as night.

  Michael watched in amazement as warm air from König’s office rolled into the adjacent room like fog and mingled with the cold air inside. König stepped well past the doorway, so Michael could only see him and what he touched. Even his footsteps shone on the cold floor for several minutes. Handprints appeared suspended in midair. Must be a counter or shelf inside the room. It’d be pretty damned funny if it turns out that’s where he keeps his Bibles and Girl Scout cookies.