Absolution
Absolution
D.V. Berkom
ABSOLUTION
A Leine Basso Thriller
Copyright © 2019 by D.V. Berkom
All rights reserved.
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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.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher.
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Published by
First eBook edition January 2019
Cover by Deranged Doctor Designs
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Author Website: dvberkom.com
Contents
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by D.V. Berkom
1
London, United Kingdom
Leine Basso glanced at her watch for the third time. He was supposed to be there by now. Her source was normally impeccable. She scanned the surrounding area through a pair of binoculars.
Had they been compromised?
In this old, familiar world she’d chosen to re-enter, being compromised was the default.
Part of the game.
It was not a game she enjoyed. She leaned back against the ancient, gnarled tree, drawing on logic to replace the obsessive thoughts threatening to derail her efforts.
She ran through the events that brought her to the banks of the Thames in the middle of Britain’s largest city. There were no indications she or her team had been compromised. Not yet. She was letting her frustration at being unable to locate Salome get to her.
This job required patience, persistence, and reason.
Her quest to eliminate the French-born terrorist had become a singular addiction, a fixation of sorts.
Which was never good.
Remember, Leine, you’re playing the long game here.
Although she’d thwarted Salome’s plans less than six months earlier, Leine couldn’t help feeling as though she were missing something vital, something basic, something dark. Growing and clawing its way into existence, like a misshapen thing, struggling to emerge from the sludge and sewage of the underground terrorism surge taking shape in Europe and beyond.
Careful to keep her inquiries anonymous, Leine returned to London after ranging far afield, searching for Salome under every rock she could find. Several months had passed, but she was no closer to finding her than she’d been when she started.
That was a long time in terrorist years. Salome could have changed her appearance and cobbled together enough support to launch another retinue of true believers willing to do anything to bring down a hated opponent.
“Got him.” The voice of Art Kowalski, the team’s overwatch, crackled through her earpiece. “He’s on the bridge.” A semi-retired security specialist and former CIA operative, Art had been her go-to in Greece the year before.
Leine scanned Tower Bridge for the man known only as the Bomb Maker. He was to meet with Daniel, one of Art’s most trusted operatives. Wired for sound, Daniel had agreed to act as the buyer. At the moment, the sensitive recording device camouflaged as a button on his light blue oxford shirt was picking up the tourist chatter streaming past him on the bridge.
Approaching from the south, Daniel made his way through the throngs of tourists to where the Bomb Maker waited next to the railing midway across the bridge. The unusually hot summer had segued into a cool, damp fall, and both men were dressed in slacks and overcoats. The cadaverous Bomb Maker wore a neck scarf, a wool fisherman’s cap, and a pair of leather gloves, while Daniel, shorter and on the stocky side, wore a knit watchman’s cap but no gloves or scarf.
“Is the Thames always so muddy?” Daniel asked, delivering the first line in the agreed-upon code to establish bona fides.
“Sometimes it’s as dark as chocolate,” answered the Bomb Maker.
The Bomb Maker lifted his chin in acknowledgement and stepped closer to Daniel. “I need to verify the order.”
Daniel had requested the man’s specialty—an easily transported bomb capable of delivering structural failure to any one of the bridges jutting across the Thames. Strangely enough, the Bomb Maker had resisted Daniel’s initial request for a bespoke explosive to take out the bridge they were currently standing on. When pressed for a reason, the Bomb Maker simply said if he were ever connected to the destruction of such a historic site in London it wouldn’t be good for business.
“I can have it ready for you by Tuesday,” the bomber said.
“Tuesday is good. How do you want the money?”
The man paused for a moment before answering. “Small denomination, unmarked euros. Put the money in a duffel bag and hide it in the bushes behind the northernmost bench in Trinity Park on Tower Hill.”
“Half now, half when you deliver, right?” Daniel asked.
“All of it. By tomorrow morning.”
Leine scanned the bridge through her binoculars, searching for anyone who appeared to be watching the Bomb Maker’s back. Several feet from the two men stood a guy with dark hair and a black peacoat who didn’t look like a tourist. He’d appeared around the time of the meet and hadn’t moved from his position.
“I’ll pay half. Nothing more until delivery.”
“Then our business is finished.” The Bomb Maker started to leave.
“Wait.” Daniel’s voice was just the right amount of anxious.
The other man stopped and turned.
“I’ll get you the money. By tomorrow.”
The Bomb Maker nodded, once. “Leave it at the drop by ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Where will we meet when it’s ready?”
“I’ll contact you.”
“How?”
The Bomb Maker narrowed his eyes. “You ask too many questions.”
Back off, Daniel. He’s getting squirrelly. Leine tightened her grip on the binoculars.
Daniel shrugged, nodded. “I get it. You’ll find me.”
“Yes.” The Bomb Maker appeared to think for a moment. “Who did you say you worked for?”
“I didn’t.” Daniel’s tone was neutral, neither wary nor friendly.
Jamie, one of Art’s guys, walked past them, but Daniel kept his focus on the Bomb Maker. In contrast, the Bomb Maker glanced after the man and lifted his chin. The guy in the black peacoat waited for Art’s operative to walk past before he turned to follow.
“One of our guys just picked up a tail,” Leine muttered into her mic.
“Copy that. Jamie, watch your back,” Art warned.
Jamie keyed his mic twice.
Leine refocused on Daniel and the other man.
“Who do you work for?” the Bomb Maker asked again.
“That’s none of your concern,” Daniel replied. This time his tone had changed to one of annoyance.
“But it is.” The Bomb Maker took another step closer to Daniel and added, “It is my business to understand who I am dealing with.”
“Stand by,” Art said, his voice clear in Leine’s earpiece. “This could go sideways.”
“There’s a large group coming up behind Daniel,” Leine warned. Several smiling, chatting Japanese tourists were walking en masse toward the two men and were about to overtake them.
Daniel leaned in close to the other man. “My employer prefers to remain anonymous,” he said in a low voice.
The Bomb Maker held his hands up as if in surrender and took a step back. At the same moment the group of Japanese tourists streamed past. In their midst was a man of medium height in a dark green jacket who didn’t look Japanese.
“Watch the man behind you,” Leine warned. At that moment, the man bumped hard into Daniel.
“What the—?” Daniel managed. The man in the green jacket threw something over the railing into the river before shoving his hands into his pockets and dissolving into the crowd. The Bomb Maker turned and quickly strode away in the opposite direction.
“Shit,” Daniel wheezed.
“What? What’s going on? Daniel, talk to me.” Heart thudding, Leine sprinted toward the bridge. What the hell just happened?
There was no r
eply.
2
“Danny, what happened? Are you all right? Report.” The intensity of Art’s concern spurred Leine on.
She ran past the milling tourists, pushing aside those who got in her way while she kept her focus on Daniel, who was now doubled over and leaning against the bridge railing. She reached him as he dropped to one knee, gripping his side. Another of Art’s guys joined them, breathing hard from the sprint.
“Knife,” Daniel managed as he reached for the railing to help him stand.
Art’s guy wrapped Daniel’s arm around his neck and hoisted him to his feet. The knife had entered the left side of his torso. A dark stain bloomed on the light blue oxford as pedestrians streamed past. Other than some curious looks, no one paid attention to the trio near the railing.
“He needs a medic. Now,” Leine said into her mic. “Here—” She removed her wool scarf and pressed it to the injury. “Hold it against the wound.”
Daniel nodded. “The fucker stabbed me in broad daylight,” he wheezed. He peeled the scarf away to look—it was covered in blood. He put it back. “Looks like I’ve been blown,” he said in a half-hearted attempt at humor.
“Yeah.” Leine glanced in the direction the Bomb Maker had gone, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Art—do you have eyes on him?”
“Affirmative,” Art replied. “He’s headed north toward Tower Hill.” He was referring to the infamous patch of ground where those unlucky enough to be deemed traitors to the crown had been put to death centuries before.
“What about the guy who knifed him?”
“I’ve got Thomas shadowing him.”
“I’m going after the bomber.”
“Zarko’ll cover your six. Be careful.”
“Copy that.” Leine took off at a sprint in pursuit of the Bomb Maker. “What about the guy in the black coat?”
“Negative,” Jamie said over the comms. “He disappeared before I could get a bead on him.”
She sped past the crowd of tourists queuing up for the Tower of London. The year-round crowds made the surrounding area ideal for a meet. Especially for the terrorist responsible for the explosives that destroyed much of the Pont de l’Alma in Paris six months before. More escape routes were available by blending into a crowd than by meeting someone on a lonely stretch of road.
A few minutes later, Leine caught sight of her quarry. He was moving swiftly through Trinity Park, headed for the financial district. Zarko had caught up and was paralleling her. A tall, heavily tattooed Greek dressed in black with long dark hair, Zarko sported several piercings and a razor-sharp goatee, and was one of the best operatives around. Surprisingly, he blended into crowds well.
The Bomb Maker was key to finding Salome, the woman responsible for the Paris terrorist attack. Although she’d used other names, Leine always thought of her as Salome—the original moniker the terrorist had used when she helped a Russian general carry out a sarin gas attack in a Las Vegas casino the year before.
The Bomb Maker turned left past a public ale house and then down a narrow cobblestone street. Leine stayed several meters behind him. Zarko was nowhere in sight, but she knew he was close by.
They continued this way for a few more blocks before the Bomb Maker disappeared into a nondescript brick building set on a sparsely traveled side street. Leine pulled out her phone and searched for the address. It was listed as an apartment building with several units available for short-term rental. She walked by, noting the call box next to the double glass doors.
“He just went into an apartment building on Portsoken Street,” she said into her mic. “I’ll check it out.” She circled the block searching for another exit. There was only one other door that opened onto a sidewalk leading to the adjacent parking lot and the building’s rubbish containers. She studied the surrounding area and chose a position just down the walkway near a gym. The remaining foliage of the evenly spaced trees planted along the sidewalk gave her a modicum of cover while still allowing her a good visual of the door.
“I’ve got you and the building covered.” Zarko’s deep baritone came through the mic. “Looks clean.”
“Copy that.” Glad to know she hadn’t been tailed and that there was no one to be concerned about nearby, Leine made herself comfortable.
In service to her obsession to kill Salome, Leine had publicly cut ties with everyone she loved, including her daughter, April; Lou Stokes, her handler at SHEN, an anti-trafficking agency; and Santiago Jensen, detective for LAPD Robbery Homicide Division and the love of her life.
The last one had been the most difficult.
She’d stopped Salome from achieving her ends twice. The first time, Leine had learned of the Russian general’s grandiose campaign to lure the US into war with Russia, cutting short Salome’s ambitions to be the most notorious terrorist in the world. In the second instance, she’d thwarted the terrorist’s plans to destroy European landmarks in a heinous attempt at building her reputation on the world stage. Salome had learned Leine’s identity and role in the Russian incident through an old contact who had suggested taking out a contract on her. It was then that Leine realized she had to break ties with her most important relationships, knowing that Salome would stop at nothing to get to Leine, including using those she loved.
Her daughter April knew Leine would be back—growing up with an assassin for a mother gave her a unique set of coping skills that would get her through. And Lou Stokes was used to her disappearing for weeks or months at a time. Although she’d publicly expressed her plans to sever all connections with the anti-trafficking agency, he’d known it was for public consumption and that she’d be in touch, however covertly.
But she had decided to make the break real with Santa. In Leine’s opinion, he was the most vulnerable of her contacts. She couldn’t be certain he’d act like he’d just been through a breakup if she didn’t actually do it—he was too loyal, too by the numbers. If he knew there was still a chance for them to be together, he’d never take the natural step of being with someone else. Leine’s heart was in shreds at ending their relationship, but it was the only way. Salome would be able to spot that kind of deception with ease.
Leine just hoped the public break would be enough.
Twenty-three minutes later, the Bomb Maker reappeared behind the glass front doors. He hesitated as he peered at the parking lot before he emerged from the building carrying a duffel bag. He turned left at the door and headed for the street, his gaze constantly moving, never settling on anything or anyone for long, as he walked through the security gate onto the sidewalk.
He hadn’t seen her.
Letting him get a head start, she loosened her ponytail, allowing her dark auburn hair to cascade over her shoulders. She took off her jacket and reversed it, changing the fabric from black to brown, slipped a beige scarf from her bag and covered her head, then donned a pair of large sunglasses to throw him off in case he’d caught a glimpse of her on the bridge. Then she resumed tracking him.
He stopped at a light near a busy street, and Leine slowed her pace, staying near the back of the crowd waiting to cross. The light changed, and the mass of people moved into the intersection. Leine went with the flow, keeping the Bomb Maker in sight. Just then, a horn blared and a late-model Opel careened through the intersection. Screams erupted and pedestrians scattered, creating mass confusion. Leine had to move quickly to avoid being hit by the speeding car, and temporarily lost sight of her quarry. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Zarko jogging across the street, close on the Bomb Maker’s tail.