Cargo: A Leine Basso Thriller (22 page)

Zara shook her head. “She wasn’t here. I checked the kitchen where she usually works, but she wasn’t there, either.”

“How long until you’re missed?” Derek asked.

“It depends on the guard. Tonight it’s Ubaya. He lets me walk by myself most of the time, so I think we’re all right for now.”

“Do you know where he is?” Leine asked.

“He usually sits by himself under a big baobab tree just outside of camp and drinks beer. That way, no one can find him to make him work.”

“Derek, you take Zara back to the Rover and wait for me there,” Leine said. “I’ll find Ubaya. Key the mic if you see anyone. If it’s Wang or Kylie, let me know asap.”

“But what about the others?” Zara asked. “They’re being treated like slaves, too.”

“We’ve got that handled. Derek will fill you in when you get back to the Rover.”

Derek handed Leine a canteen filled with water. She took a quick drink, replaced the cap, and left, melting into the shadows.

Kylie pushed the
bags of flour and rice onto their sides and lay across them, trying to get comfortable. She heard snatches of conversation and the sound of footsteps hurrying by. Probably staff getting the big dinner ready. The distant laughter of the main camp’s guests filled the air. Her chest squeezed tight at the ache of revived memories—of family dinners and celebrations, and happier days when Brandon was still alive.

The rich scent of exotic spices filled the small hut, and Kylie wondered if Wang would leave her there all night. She hoped so, since it would delay the inevitable. She refused to think about what would happen to her if she ended up with either Wang or Doctor Death. Or his gunmen, for that matter. Even though she didn’t have much experience with sex, she wasn’t stupid.

Whatever it was wouldn’t be pleasant. The one time she did think things through, she’d broken down and sobbed, fear blossoming inside of her like a drop of blood spreading on an oily surface. Now that Wang knew Kylie had overheard his and Bobbi Jo’s conversation about Sapphire, she didn’t know how long she had before he’d try to do the same to her.

Seeing Jaidee brought another ache to her heart. He was alone, afraid, and at Assad’s mercy. Her fear of the militant and his men trumped her maternal feelings for Jaidee, although if she ended up with the gunmen, she’d try to make the best of things. Either way, she didn’t see much of a future, for her or Jaidee.

Her fingers curled around the knife she kept hidden in her bra. Good thing Wang wasn’t very thorough. He never patted her down.

Kylie turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The image of her mother and father appeared in her mind and tears welled in her eyes. Where were they? Why hadn’t they found her yet? Didn’t her mother’s friend, Leine, look for people like her? She’d been so excited when she thought she’d seen her on the ship. Did she travel this far? The army certainly did. She liked to imagine an elite Special Forces team ghosting their way through camp, immobilizing the guards as they searched for her. She’d like to get one to immobilize Ghanima.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, her good angel chastised her. On the other hand, her bad angel heartily congratulated her on her awesome imagination. Soon, she drifted off, dreaming of handsome men in camouflage carrying guns and coming to take her home.

Kylie snapped back to reality at the sound of gravel crunching outside the hut. Disoriented, she climbed to her feet. Had Wang decided to come for her anyway? She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, but no one was talking or laughing outside.

A key scraped the lock and the door opened. Ghanima’s familiar silhouette filled the doorway.

Kylie backed up until she hit the far wall. Holding something behind her, Ghanima advanced into the hut and closed the door. A filtered glow from the walk lights outside leaked through the gaps in the wall, illuminating the woman’s face and eyes and giving Kylie the impression she was an extra in some B-rated horror flick.

Except this wasn’t a movie. And she wasn’t an extra.

“What do you want?” Kylie asked, trying to see around her. Ghanima moved, too fast for an overweight spawn of the devil, swinging what looked like some kind of a bat. Kylie ducked at the last minute, feeling the swish of air past her head as the weapon came close.

Kylie cried out and feinted to the left. Ghanima lunged for her, missing her again by mere inches. Kylie wouldn’t be able to get away with the same ploy again, and she waited for the other woman to make the next move.

The sound of Ghanima’s breathing echoed against the walls of the small space. She raised the bat. Kylie frantically searched for something to use as a weapon. Then she remembered the knife.

She reached for the hilt the same time the bat sliced through the air toward her. Kylie tried to get out of the way, but was a split-second too late. The wood connected with her head, knocking her off balance. Stunned, Kylie stumbled against the wall. Ghanima came at her again, swinging the bat for all she was worth. Kylie dropped to a crouch and slid the knife free as the bat whooshed above her.

Expecting resistance, Ghanima staggered forward. Kylie sprang to her feet and lunged, burying the knife in her throat. The larger woman’s eyes bulged in shock and a sound like a strangled cat wheezed from her mouth. The blade still in her throat, blood poured from the wound, the stain burgeoning on the front of her shirt.

Kylie stared in horror at the woman, at what she’d just done. The bat clattered to the ground. Ghanima slumped to her knees, a horrific gurgling coming from her throat. She hesitated a moment, and then collapsed face down in the dirt. A dark stain spread beneath her.

Panic clouded Kylie’s mind, and she stood rooted to the spot.
Oh my God. Oh my God. What have I done?
The words played a loop in her stunned brain, words she was unable to shake free.

Time passed before she came back to herself. She shook her head to clear it and stepped over Ghanima’s inert body, shuddering as she did. She turned away and headed for the door. Blood roaring in her ears, she inched open the door to check if anyone was nearby. She saw no one.

Her brain frozen, Kylie blanked on what to do next. She couldn’t stay in camp. How much range did the collar have? She had to get as far away as possible. Then she could figure out the rest.

She slipped out the door, closed it behind her, and started running.

***

Leine crept up behind the man sitting on the ground near the huge baobab tree. Three beer bottles lay scattered next to him, a fourth in his hand. His gun was propped against the tree, a few feet from him. She waited until he brought the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back before she eased the gun out of his reach.

“Nice night, huh?” she said, stepping around the tree, her gun aimed at him. Startled, the gunman put the beer down and scrambled to his knees before his gaze cut to where his weapon should have been.

“Looking for this?” She held his gun up with her free hand. A wary expression crossed his face. She removed the magazine, jacked the cartridge out of the chamber, and set the weapon on the ground. He glared at her.

“Lesson one, never allow your weapon out of range.” Leine shook her head, studying him for a moment. The moonlight picked up a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “You’re Ubaya, right?”

He hesitated before he nodded.

“Good. I’m looking for Kylie, and I’ve been told you know where she is.”

“No,” he answered, swiveling his head, searching for help. “I do not know this person.”

Leine smiled. “Of course you do. I would never have known you were here if someone didn’t tell me where to find you. They said you would help me find her.”

“I cannot.” Panic filled his eyes. “I will lose my job if I tell you.”

“You’ll lose more than that if you
don’t
tell me.” Leine aimed her gun higher, in line with his sweaty forehead. He fell silent, the sheen spreading. “What’s it going to be, Ubaya? Stay mute and you can die, or tell me what I need to know and finish that beer.” She nodded toward the bottle on the ground next to him.

The beer won.

“Mister Wang took her. She stays in his tent on the other side of camp.” His gaze flicked to the bottle.

“Was that so hard?” Leine picked up the cartridge she’d ejected from the chamber of his gun and slipped it into her pocket. The magazine went into a side compartment of her pants. Then she walked over to Ubaya. “Hands behind your back.”

“But they will look for me. When they find me they will know you are here.”

“I don’t intend to stick around that long. Hands,” she ordered.

“What about the animals? I will not be able to defend myself if they come.”

“You probably should have thought about that when you chained Kylie to the metal pole and left her there all night.”

Ubaya swallowed. “But she did not die.”

“Hands.”

Ubaya bowed his head and did as she instructed. Leine pulled out a length of rope and tied his wrists. Then she had him lie prone while she used the same rope to tie his feet, trussing him like a Christmas turkey.

As she started to walk away, he rolled onto his side.

“What about the beer?” he lamented. “You promised.”

Leine shrugged. “I lied.”

Wang walked through
the remains of the evening’s festivities, picking up glasses and half-empty bottles of wine and booze, while one of his staff cleaned the rest in silence. Wang had instructed him to not disturb the militants or the Schneiders.

Bobbi Jo and Clarence had disappeared into their tent as soon as dinner was over. Wang wished he’d been able to do the same.

The evening had progressed into a bacchanalia as Assad and his men grew increasingly drunk, to the point that several began singing at the top of their voices and firing their weapons into the air. Wang had pleaded with Assad to get a handle on his men for the sake of the paying customers in the other section of the camp, but Assad just shrugged and said, “Let them have a taste of the real Africa.” They continued well into the evening, stopping only after Wang doctored a bottle of whiskey with sedatives and poured liberal drinks for them all.

Assad had passed out on the bed in the remaining guest tent, sprawled drunkenly across the 1000-thread-count sheets, his muddy boots leaving dark streaks on the pristine fabric. The child had curled up on the floor next to him. A few of Assad’s men slept in their pickups, while others rolled out blankets nearby.

Victor Wang considered having Assad and his men killed as they slept, but discarded the idea. Because of the crackdown on poachers by so many African agencies, massive quantities of elephant ivory and rhino horn were getting harder to come by. And, most poachers were small operators, unable to supply the amount Wang needed. If Assad were to cease operations, Wang would be forced to deal with less acceptable groups who might or might not believe in keeping their part of the deal.

Or, he’d have to decentralize and use several individuals, which brought its own set of headaches. Either way, the logistics were a shitstorm waiting to happen. Once the supply line was interrupted, his business partners would leave him in droves.

The thought of working with individual poachers reminded Wang of his orders to hunt down Derek and the woman. He hadn’t received word of their capture, had only heard secondhand reports of the debacle at the poacher’s home in Mikocheni. It would be the last time he used contract assassins instead of his own men.

Victor was in the process of combining two bottles of scotch to make a fifth, along with figuring out his next step to find the runaway Afrikaner, when his phone vibrated. Caller ID told him it was his driver, Tai. Irritated by the intrusion, he set the bottle down and walked to the edge of camp before answering.

“Ghanima is dead,” Tai advised. “The girl is gone.”

Wang swore. “Did anyone see where she went?”

“No. What do you want me to do?”

“Have you removed the body?”

“Of course.”

“How did she die?”

“A knife to the throat. It was still in her neck.”

How did the girl obtain a knife? Wang clenched his jaw, his irritation rising. He’d have to concoct a story to tell Ghanima’s family. They’d want the body.

“Bring the truck. We’ll track her from there. The helicopter will wake too many people.” Wang ended the call. Alone with no weapon the girl would have little chance in the bush. They’d have to find her soon, or he’d be out what he paid for her. She’d be an easy mark for a lion or leopard.

Wang hated losing an acquisition.

“Is there a problem?”

Assad’s deep voice startled him.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” Wang turned and smiled. “A small administrative glitch.”

The gunman grinned, the diamond in his tooth sparkling in the dim camp lights. “Why do I not believe you?” He scratched his balls and yawned, looking toward Wang’s tent. “Where is the girl? I could use some company.”

“I’m afraid she’s not here.”

Assad’s sharp gaze snapped to Wang’s. “Where has she gone?”

Wang maintained eye contact. “She’s not here,” he repeated. His fingers itched to activate the app on his phone. The shock collar had a range of two miles. If she was hiding within that distance, they’d find her. But he had to leave, now.

Just then, Tai pulled up next to the main tent in the all-terrain truck. He cut the lights and idled, waiting for his boss. Assad studied the truck and then Wang. Wang gave him an apologetic smile.

“I’m afraid there are some pressing matters I must attend to.” He straightened, his face a mask of calm. “If you’ll excuse me.” Wang turned to go, but Assad grabbed his arm. Wang checked the impulse to deliver a blow to the man’s windpipe.

“I think this ‘pressing matter’ must have to do with the girl,” he said. He released Wang’s arm, his eyes narrowing. “She has run away, yes?” When Wang didn’t reply, he continued. “My men and I will help you.” He brought his fingers to his lips and whistled, the sharp sound piercing the night.

“Get up, all of you. Now,” he shouted. Groggy from being sedated, his men were slow to respond. Assad strode to one of the men still in his sleeping bag and, before he could rise, slammed his foot into his stomach. The man doubled over, wheezing.

“Get up. We are leaving,” he commanded. Most now awake, his men snapped to and climbed to their feet. Assad walked to the lead vehicle and slid into the passenger seat. His driver was there in seconds.

“Fucking terrorist,” Wang muttered as he walked to the truck. He brought out his phone, activating the shock collar, and dialed up the intensity. The amount of electricity delivered would be enough to slow the young woman down but not inflict lasting damage. He glanced at the power level. She’d been wearing it for twenty-three hours. There was perhaps an hour left on the battery, although the monitor on his screen showed even less. He edged the limit higher. He’d have to make the first charge count.

Wang climbed into the truck and nodded at Tai. His driver shifted into gear and roared out of camp, leaving Assad and his men in the dust.