The Trafficker: A Michael Thomas Thriller

by Gavin Reese

  Without breaking pace or looking down, Michael reached his hand out just past his hip, grabbed the small device, and pulled its adhesive backing off the wall. He dropped it in his jogging pants’ pocket and continued to the end of the hall. Michael glanced around just before he entered a stairwell to descend to the Fitness Center in the basement beneath him. Good tradecraft demands I keep up appearances and running a few miles would seriously help take the edge off tonight. If this R-F-I-D reader worked like John promised, I'll have a very long night ahead of me.

  Michael considered the flowchart of how tonight’s operation might go. If the RFID reader worked, I can get into the secret room and see what König’s hiding. If it didn’t, well, then I have to force my way in. He sighed at the thought of being in that position. There’s no turning back at that point. After I break through the bookcase, there’s only two options. If I’m to offer König his final absolution, I’ll have to grab him as soon as he comes into the office tomorrow morning. Lots of risk, lots of potential witnesses. Lots of chances for failure. I’ll also need the African’s delivery to be late. If there’s no evidence in the hidden room, I’ll have to fly outta the country before he calls the cops to investigate the break-in. With his status, the local uniforms will rush every suspicious speck to the forensic lab for analysis.

  As he reached the basement level and stepped out into the hallway toward the small fitness center, Michael tried to quell his anxiety. No one but God knows what the next few hours hold. I must have faith that He’ll tell me when it’s time for me to know.

  February 19, 01:09am

  König’s Office. Vienna, Austria.

  Michael again concealed his face from König’s hallway surveillance cameras and stopped at his target’s office door. He donned two pairs of black medical exam gloves, cycling through a series of deep, calming breaths as he did so. Let’s hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Michael exhaled a portion of his anxiety and swiped his König International-logoed access card across the sensor just left of the door.

  thuck

  As soon as the locks released, Michael pushed the door ajar, reached inside, and turned off the interior light switch to his left. Not gonna let that motion sensor get me twice, not when everything’s become so critical. The devil is now officially in the details. He slid inside the darkened office and pressed the door closed behind him. A glance across the room confirmed the Die Festung motion sensor still glowed green. If that room holds what I think it does, Herr König’s gonna regret not staying on top of his security systems. Michael looked out the large wall of windows as he hurried across the plush carpeting. The early morning hour and cold late-winter temps had conspired to empty the sidewalk of any pedestrians. Operngasse, the one-way street just outside and below König’s windows, was equally vacant. Not a creature stirred, not even a mouse.

  When Michael again stood before the bookcase he now knew functioned as a concealed doorway, he retrieved a small USB remote from his pocket. The moment of truth. If God wants me to resolve this, John’s mystery device and software have to let me in. Otherwise, we’re on to Plan B, whatever that might look like. The recent overdose headlines flashed across his mind. Please, God, use me as a tool to prevent all König’s imported suffering.

  Michael depressed a small button on the remote, which then projected the RFID signal John’s device had stolen from König several hours ago. Even if this worked, I still don’t know where the sensor is. He methodically moved the remote across the front of the bookcase where he thought his target had done so earlier. Tense seconds ticked by while beads of sweat formed on Michael’s brow despite the cool temperature inside the office. I don’t want to break in, everything gets more complicated the second I leave evidence behind. Come on, come on. So much at stake—

  thuck

  Michael’s heart leapt at the familiar sound, and he pushed on the left side of the bookcase. It opened into the wall and swung back to Michael’s right on its concealed, interior hinges. Unlike König’s main office, no exterior light entered the room. Only blackness awaited Michael. No alarms sounded, and a quick glance confirmed the status of the Die Festung sensor hadn’t changed. Into the abyss…

  Without the night-vision he needed, Michael apprehensively stepped into the clandestine room. He pulled a small flashlight from his pants pocket, one which he’d long used for covert purposes. While he was still working as a cop, Michael had covered its lens with red permanent marker to better conceal its beam. After first ensuring the floor ahead presented no obstacles, Michael turned and pushed the bookcase to. Can’t let myself get trapped in here. With the door slightly ajar, he took off his grey hoodie, rolled it into a tight, dense cotton log, and placed it between the bookcase and its concealed frame. It’s still possible someone might be in the exact right position in the hotel to see my dim red light in here, but that’s a much smaller risk than getting trapped with no way outta here.

  Michael began a slow, detailed search of the room. Just as John had trained him to do, he started from the outside in. As a cop, I would’ve dived straight into the cabinets and drawers, but, without a legal reason to be in here, I’ve now gotta start by looking for wires, magnets, anything that might signal König I’m in here. Patience for the payoff. He required a painstaking thirty-three minutes to convince himself that no such devices existed on the outside of the cabinets. He still might have alarm sensors concealed on the interior, but there’s only one way to find out about those.

  Michael stepped to the tall cabinet door closest to the bookcase and pulled it wide open. His red beam showed nine black nylon duffel bags spread across its shelves. Rather than open and inspect them, Michael maintained his discipline. He stepped back, closed his eyes, and listened for any change to the environment. Nothing. Another glance back to the Die Festung device through the slight bookcase opening. Still glowing green, no change. He breathed a sigh of relief and waited another few seconds. Pretty damned hard to confirm that nothing happened. I can’t prove the absence of action, but I can work fast enough now to mitigate some of my risk. A grin spread across his face. Burnin’ daylight, shithead.

  February 19, 06:52am

  Vatican Housing Complex. Rome, Italy.

  Bishop Harold Hoffaburr’s cellphone rang just as he stepped from an elevator and into the hallway outside his superior’s apartment. Early for a Saturday. The restricted number convinced him of the call’s importance. “Yes?”

  “Good morning.”

  Harold recognized John’s voice but still thought it rude the man never introduced or announced himself on the phone. He’s too paranoid about every aspect of our security. “Yes, good morning.” He checked his watch. “It’s late there, isn’t it?”

  “It’s gettin’ that way, but I knew you’d wanna know as soon as I did. Our problem’s gonna be solved tomorrow. Well, today over there.”

  Harold scanned the hallway to ensure no one would overhear him. “So, he found what he needed.”

  “And then some. He sent over photos a few minutes ago, and he’ll head back in a few hours to wrap this thing up. I’m gonna go ahead and pre-position his exfil at an outta-the-way airfield.”

  “That seems prudent.” Harold smiled, even though he knew the operation was far from over and none of them were yet out of danger. “I’d like to know when it’s all done.”

  “You’ll know what I know, just as soon as I know it.”

  “Thank you. What about the other thing, the one in London?”

  “No news. Still workin’ on it, but we ain’t got nothin’ to show for it yet.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help, or at least procure additional assets or resources to aid in the effort?”

  “No, but I'll keep ya in mind. Eventually, we’ll have to consider changin’ our tactics on this one. Part of the problem with having competent, thinkin’ worker bees is that they know our op-sec protocols are holdin’ ‘em back on this particular investigation.”

  Harold scowled, sudden
ly very uncomfortable with the potential need to alter the protocols that protected him and Cardinal Dylan from blowback. “How do you mean that?”

  “I don’t, yet. Just somethin’ we’re gonna hafta address in the comin’ weeks and months. I’ll letcha know how everything pans out in the next twelve-to-twenty-four.”

  “Very good, thank you.” The call ended, and Harold put his phone away. John doesn’t understand how vital our compartmentalization is. He and his men all selfishly want to ensure they’re protected from capture and incarceration, but His Eminence and I are the ones facing real, life-altering consequence if our work with the Absolvers should ever come to public light.

  February 19, 1:12PM

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Michael sat in the plush leather armchair he’d placed back near his hotel door. With only three hours of sleep that morning, he’d consumed two pots of coffee despite the nervous energy coursing through his veins. Nothing helps anxiety like more caffeine. Too bad they don’t sell Copenhagen in this place, I could really go for a lipper of chewing tobacco right now.

  He lifted the thermal binoculars back up to his eyes and saw König hadn’t yet left his desk. The man’s such a creature of habit, it should be any minute now. Just as the desk clock in Michael’s room chimed once to signal the quarter-hour, König stood, stretched his back and shoulders, and gathered his personal effects. Like clockwork. It’s lunchtime.

  Michael stayed in place until König left his office. Only then did he stand, stretch his own back and shoulders, and gather the personal items he expected to need in the next few hours. Even though he’d stayed up until almost seven-a.m. preparing for this exact moment, Michael rechecked his messenger bag and inventoried its contents. Yep. Everything I might need, and a lot of shit I pray I don’t. He raised the binoculars up once more and confirmed the office remained empty. Stepping toward the window, Michael looked down on the street and watched König cross Operngasse midblock between heavy traffic already stopped for red lights. I’d consider mentioning to König how his habits became his downfall, but it’s not like it’s gonna matter anymore. He’s about to enjoy the last lunch he’ll ever eat.

  February 19, 1:16PM

  Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.

  Rogelio watched König leave his office on his laptop monitor. He’s so goddamned predictable. That alone would eventually get him killed, except that I won’t allow him to live that long. Rogelio considered heading downstairs and taking a table near König, just to watch him sweat, but dismissed it. He’ll be dead by this time tomorrow. May as well let the man have one last decent meal.

  Checking his watch despite knowing the approximate time, Rogelio frowned as he thought of his assault team’s delayed arrival. One of the difficulties in bribing government officials is ensuring they’re available on short notice. Thankfully, our customs official in Lisbon arrived at the last minute to prevent a legitimate inspection of the aircraft and its contents. He looked at the watch again and calculated his departure time. We have to leave for the airstrip by 2:30. How to best pass the time?

  An epiphany struck Rogelio as he recalled the brothel he’d seen a short walk away from the hotel. The prostitutes here are legal and regulated, so I don’t have to worry about being stabbed or robbed now, or taking some disease home to my wife and mistress later. He stood up and moved with a purpose and a mission. I’ll give König time to enjoy his casual lunch, and I’ll go enjoy something better. Prostitutes aren’t offended with directions and preferences, it’s the amateurs that give you grief. Leave it to a professional, and the best sex is always paid for. Rogelio smiled at himself as he donned his overcoat. It’s more of a philosophical position, but haven’t men always paid for sex, whenever we’ve gotten to have it? No free lunch for us.

  Rogelio looked around the room, just as his laptop monitor timed out and put itself to sleep. That’s fine, the video’s streaming online now, and it’ll keep recording everything that happens in König’s office while I’m gone. He left the room and secured the door behind him. By the time I return, I’ll have satisfied all my carnal desires and picked up a dozen men, each armed with all the weapons they can carry. And, just like the hooker, they’re all paid to perform. I can’t imagine what could stop me after that.

  February 19, 2:33PM

  Operngasse. Vienna, Austria.

  Alfred strolled southbound on the Operngasse sidewalk, and he tried to emanate the same commanding presence as any other titan of industry, especially in a city and society that celebrated and envied such. I need to complete only a few items before I close out the white side of my workday and focus on tomorrow’s windfall.

  He’d kept his daily lunch reservation as Lokal Sacher for the last four years and, despite his recent troubles, the routine helped restore order and control to his psyche. As he walked back to his office, Alfred intermittently checked over his shoulder and looked at the faces around him, but no one seemed threatening.

  Traffic had lightened since his last crossing, so he had to wait a moment for a break in the vehicle stream. Gives me another chance to watch those around me. No one seems to care, no one mimicking my trajectory. All these problems with Altüss and Rogelio Salvador have made me paranoid. They both need me more than I need them. I’m an asset to both men, even if they underestimate my ruthlessness.

  Alfred finally crossed the street and stepped through the main entrance of the Tourist Information Center. Even if it’s the long way to my office, it’s worth the few extra steps to keep young and voluptous Hannah on the hook. He saw the shared receptionist was busy speaking with several visitors and leasees, so he smiled and covertly waved when she saw him. She blushed and beamed for a moment, so Alfred knew he’d had the desired effect. Yes, she will definitely want to stop in for a nightcap this evening.

  A short elevator ride later, he emerged onto his floor and strode through the tiled hallway to his office. The hard soles of his custom dress shoes echoed slightly, and Alfred enjoyed the sound of it. Sounds like, authority. He stopped in front of his office door, retrieved his access card from his small RFID-protected wallet, and swiped it across the sensor just left of the doorway next to the handle.

  thuck

  Alfred turned the handle and pushed the door open once the locks released. Stepping inside, he saw the bookcase door to his clandestine storage room stood wide open. Dread and rage filled Alfred’s chest and throat, and he dropped his wallet and access card onto the office carpeting. With his right hand, he drew his suppressed H&K 9mm pistol from his interior overcoat pocket and pointed it at the open panic room door. He pushed the office door shut with his left. I want him, whoever he is, I want him locked in here with me! He can’t leave until I allow it!

  thuck

  As soon as the locks re-engaged, Alfred took up his pistol in both hands and hurried across the room to sneak up on the intruder. The carpeting absorbed almost all the sound of his footsteps, and Alfred rolled his feet to eliminate even more of the noise as he reached the area just outside the interior doorway.

  puhhpuhh

  Alfred felt the first sting in the back of his left thigh at the same time that he heard the second ejection. Oh my god, I’ve been shot! Shocked and unprepared for whatever had caught him from behind, he lurched forward and inadvertently shot a pistol round toward the panic room. He tried to stop and turn toward the threat, but his left leg didn’t respond as he expected. Alfred fell down onto his left hip and shoulder, and the barrel-heavy pistol fell from his hands and tumbled toward the panic room, away from the threat that had just shot him twice.

  Suddenly very disoriented, Alfred knew he’d been critically injured. Desperate to survive, he tried to crawl away from the threat, to get to the panic room, get to his gun, to something that could help him, but his vision was so foggy and his strength drained from him just as--

  February 19, 2:38PM

  König’s Office. Vienna, Austria.

  With black medical exam gloves covering his ha
nds and a long-sleeve, dark blue worker’s coverall concealing his black cassock, Michael stayed prone on the floor between König’s couch and the closed curtains. He kept the tranquilizer gun pointed at his fallen target. After a quick exhale calmed his nerves, Michael activated a preset five-minute timer on his wristwatch. Easiest double-tap ever, no recoil on this gun at all. Gotta wait for the anesthetic overdose to take full effect. I have one chemical dart left, and I need to save it. Keeping the tranq gun aimed at his target, he counted along with the timer. Thousand ten, thousand eleven, thousand twelve...

  When he got to thirty, Michael glanced to his left, under the couch, and confirmed the office door remained closed and locked. Returning his focus and front sight to König, he stood up. No movement. He ensured the curtains remained closed.

  Satisfied that he’d kept everything out of the public eye, Michael stepped over to one of the heavy armchairs in König’s seating area. With the tranq gun still in his right hand, Michael pulled the steel-frame chair over to the entrance and pushed it against the door. The top of the chair stood just taller than the door handle, so Michael leaned the chair back until its upper backing pressed up on the bottom of the handle. Its two front legs were about three inches above the carpet and the back legs dug into the flooring. Michael pushed hard to wedge the chair in tighter. Now anyone else has to get past my steel doorstop. Good luck with that.