The lone tourist wandered across the square, looking as if he was trying to get his bearings. Then he took the cap off his camera lens and adjusted the zoom to its maximum focal length.
The two men on the bench almost filled the frame. The younger, short-haired one seemed a little startled at something he was being told.
11.10 am.
Split, Croatia
‘We’ve got file footage of Tulici,’ the American reporter told Lorna. ‘And we’ll take shots of you three driving down the road together.’
‘Uh-oh. That’s not too clever,’ Lorna cautioned her. Journalists always assumed too much, particularly the female ones. ‘You draw attention to us like that, and somebody might say – hey guys, what’s going on here? It’s going to be tough enough as it is, getting Vildana out of the country.’
‘We’ll be sneaky. Nobody’ll see us. Don’t you worry about it.’
The camera team from CNN were packing up. Vildana stood on the balcony overlooking the sea and stared back into the room, bewildered, excited and frightened by the attention she’d been getting that morning.
It hadn’t been Lorna’s idea to tell the world that she was smuggling the only eye-witness of the Tulici massacre out of the country. She’d been instructed to do it in an e-mail message from Larry Machin in Boston. He’d already told CNN headquarters in Atlanta they could have the story exclusively if they undertook not to broadcast it until Vildana was safe.
‘Tell them it’s because CareNet uses state-of-the-art computer technology that we’ve been able to place the kid so fast.’ That was the message he wanted her to put across. ‘Publicity like this could bring in millions in donations.’
The camera team had taped Lorna tapping away at her notebook computer, with Vildana watching uncomprehendingly while covering her birthmark with a hand. The woman had asked about the threat to Vildana’s life, but Lorna had refused to say how she’d brought the girl to Split, and rejected a request for an interview with Vildana herself.
Lorna hated the publicity machine, but Larry Machin was not a man to be crossed.
‘This is the number of the Atlanta newsdesk.’ The CNN correspondent handed her a card.
‘Call them collect as soon as you’re safe, so they can transmit the piece. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘And you’ve not talked to any other media, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Great. Well thank you Lorna. And thanks Vildana. Good luck!’
She shook hands all round. The cameraman and recordist clattered out of the room with their equipment. The correspondent followed, then turned in the doorway.
‘Oh, I meant to tell you I’m flying back home to the States tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Anything you want me to take for you? Letters maybe?’
Lorna thought for a moment.
‘Oh my God, yes! The camera! Larry wants pictures.’
Her Nikon was on the bed and she’d forgotten to use it.
‘Can you give me a few minutes to take some shots? No. I’ve a better idea. Your office is here in the hotel, right?’
‘Sure. One floor up. Room three-two-eight.’
‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll bring you an envelope with a film in it. Okay?’
‘No problem. I’ll be editing for the next couple of hours, anyway.’
Lorna plugged in the flash and showed Josip how to use it. Then she put her arm round Vildana and they posed at the table with the computer.
Josip took two shots, but then couldn’t wind on any further.
‘It is finish,’ he suggested, passing her the camera.
‘Fine. We’ve got enough. Thanks.’
She took back the Nikon, rewound the film and removed the cassette. Then she closed her fingers round it, remembering it contained shots of Alex taken in the Bosnian village where they’d met.
She despatched Josip to ask at reception for envelopes, then scrawled a note to Machin, telling him what was on the film, and asking him to post the pictures that weren’t of Vildana to her sister in Boston. Then she wrote another note.
Dearest Annie,
You will NEVER guess who the guy with the beard is, standing next to me in a couple of these photos!
His name begins with the letter ‘A’!!!
See you soon. Lorna.
Josip returned, successful. Lorna addressed the envelopes, put the one for her sister inside the one to Machin containing the film and hurried down the corridor to the stairway.
She nearly collided with Alex coming out of the lift.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said hurriedly, walking briskly down the corridor.
As arranged, she had telephoned him last night. He’d told her about his gloomy meeting with Mike Allison, who reckoned Bosnia Emergency had been all but crippled by the publicity surrounding McFee. He had also said that he knew of a way to put a stamp in her daughter’s passport.
Alex found the door to her room open.
‘Morning Josip. Hello Vildana.’ He smiled at the girl and gave her a hug. Vildana almost looked excited and had colour back in her cheeks.
Lorna returned breathless.
‘Okay,’ she panted. ‘What’s next? I’ve got so much to do before the ferry tonight. Vildana has to have some clothes.’
The girl looked nervous again, not understanding what was on offer but sensing tension.
‘As I said on the phone, I think I can fix that passport for you, Lorna,’ Alex reminded her. ‘But there are some things I need to buy. Can I borrow Josip for half an hour? And your Land Cruiser? My boss has nicked my Lada.’
‘Sure.’ She gave him the keys. ‘See you in a while. Not too long, huh?’
Josip knew the town well. They toured dry-cleaning establishments until they found one prepared to sell them di-ethylene glycol. Translating the chemical name proved beyond Josip’s powers, but asking for ball-point pen ink remover produced the desired result.
They were back in the hotel within the hour, after stopping at a toy shop to buy a child’s paintbrush.
Alex took the two American passports into Josip’s room. He’d never done this before and didn’t want people watching. He’d been told the technique by a minder at the safe house where M15 had hidden him after the pull-out from Belfast.
First he opened the passport of Lorna’s daughter. No stamps. Looked totally unused.
Julie Maria Sorensen – born 18th July 1980.
Nearly fourteen now, but the photo was younger. Pretty kid. Dark hair, like Lorna had said. Not much else that resembled Vildana. Hope immigration don’t look too closely, he thought. Curiously vacant expression. The girl hadn’t been looking at the camera.
He spread open Lorna’s passport. Her photo had been taken in a studio, hair immaculate, soft lighting, just the hint of a smile. Not her, the style. Done to please her husband probably. He wondered if he was still around.
He flicked through the pages until he found last Saturday’s entry stamp to Croatia. He checked his materials. Bottle of fluid, brush, writing paper, tissues.
He dipped the fine-pointed brush in the liquid and dabbed off the excess. Steadying his hand, he painted the Glycol in a thin coat over the black ink outline of the entry stamp. Then, replenishing the brush, he traced the letters of the word ‘Split’ and the date.
He observed his work. Every bit of ink covered.
‘Here goes,’ he murmured, pressing the sheet of writing paper firmly onto the moistened page. He lifted it off again. A perfect negative image left by the Glycolsoftened ink.
He opened the second visa section in Julie’s passport and laid the writing paper face down. Then he used his thumb to press the image onto the page.
He lifted off the paper. The image was faint, but readable. A perfect replica of an entry stamp.
Just one problem. The Glycol had left a stain on both passports. He dabbed with the tissue, but the stain remained.
He took them back next door and showed them to Lorna.
‘T
hat’s amazing. Where’d you learn to do that?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Never mind. Do you have a hair-drier? See if those stains will come out. If they don’t, your best bet may be to drop the whole passport in the bath. It’ll be such a mess by the time you dry it out, nobody’ll know what’s what.’
She looked irritated, as if he’d created more problems than he’d solved.
‘Okay, Josip, let’s go shopping now,’ she announced. ‘Vildana needs a warm coat, a nightdress and a toothbrush. And anything else she sees that she wants. I’m going to try to put a smile on that little face.’
She hustled them all out of the bedroom and locked the door. They took the stairs to the ground floor. Alex followed uneasily. Lorna was being deliberately distant.
Downstairs she handed her key to the receptionist then headed for the big glass exit doors. In the middle of the large lobby she turned to Alex.
‘Well,’ she said with a switched-on smile. ‘I guess this is goodbye again.’
Her eyes were like glass, free of any decipherable expression.
‘What d’you mean?’ he asked, stunned.
‘I imagine you’re going back up to Vitez in a day or so,’ she went on.
He knew his distress was plain for her to see – and she was savouring it, he realized suddenly.
‘I really can’t thank you enough for what you did getting Vildana down here. Made up for a lot,’ she added pointedly.
‘But I’m not sure that I am going back to Vitez . . .’ he mouthed, desperately. She was casting off, leaving him behind.
‘Fate did us all a good turn this time, huh?’
This time.
‘If we hadn’t met up like that, Vildana probably wouldn’t be here,’ she continued, slipping an arm round the girl’s shoulders.
‘But hang on a minute . . .’ Alex said, wishing they were out of earshot of the others.
‘Alex, I don’t have a minute,’ she replied fractiously. ‘I’ve got to get that kid sorted out – that’s all I’m interested in right now.’
‘Yes, but we can see each other later then . . .’
‘Later, I’m going to Frankfurt, and then home to the States.’
He felt as if she’d just kneed him in the groin.
‘Lorna, I . . . I really do want to see you again,’ he said lamely. He was conscious of Josip watching them.
‘Oh, you do? I’m not sure that’s such a good . . .’
Then she appeared to relent.
‘I tell you what. I’ll give you the number of CareNet in Boston. They can pass a message. Maybe you’ll come to the States one day.’
She pulled a calling card from her pocket and handed it to him.
‘Bye,’ she said, walking away. ‘And good luck.’
She hung on to Vildana using the girl as a shield.
Dumbfounded, Alex watched as they climbed into the Land Cruiser and drove up the ramp towards the town.
Lorna shook like a leaf, terrified she’d overdone it. She responded to Josip’s street directions on autopilot.
She had worked it all out in her head last night, while lying awake listening to Vildana’s snuffly breathing.
Yes, she ached to have him back, but no, it wouldn’t work until they were quits. Until she had made him feel something of the pain that she had felt all those years ago.
Nineteen
ALEX STALKED BACK to the Park Hotel, seething. Angry at Lorna, and at himself for standing there like an idiot, letting her go off that way. That’s what came of being too considerate with women, he thought. Should have just grabbed her and told her what’s what. Instead he’d let her dump him like some pickup at a disco.
Mike Allison was waiting for him at a table beneath the palm trees on the sun-speckled terrace.
‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, pointedly not getting to his feet. ‘Wondered where you’d got to.’
Alex pulled out a white-painted, metal chair and sat down without responding. Allison was a good five years younger than him, the type of ex-soldier who couldn’t forget he was officer class.
‘Thought we’d have a bite here. They do sandwiches.’
‘Fine.’
Allison twisted round to look for the waiter.
‘Never there when you want them. If you see him come out, give him a wave.’
‘Sure.’ Alex’s chair faced the French windows that led to the kitchens.
‘I’ve been talking to Vitez this morning,’ the Major continued. ‘I saw Moray’s body off on the C-130, then went to UNPROFOR and called Alan Clarke-Hartley on the army “comms”.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I can tell you we’re in deep doo-doo up there. The HVO are claiming we’ve been using our truck to smuggle the “Muj” in and out. Usual crap. But the bottom line is I’ve got a lot of work to do patching things up with the locals. And I think it best if you aren’t around when I do it.’
‘I see.’
The waiter approached and they ordered club sandwiches and beers.
‘Yes. The trouble is people will link you with Moray. They probably think you were both perverts. It’s all rumour control up there. Truth only makes up ten per cent of what people believe. If that.’
Alex nodded. If he was being given his cards, it was no more than he’d expected.
‘So, this is what I’ve decided,’ Allison continued. ‘Tomorrow morning there’s another of my trucks arriving from England. You can give us a hand stuffing the boxes into the Bedford and then push off back to England if you like. The chap who drives the bread van out from Farnham can come up to Vitez with me. He’s bringing a camera. We’ll get some new pictures of our aid being distributed and hope it counteracts the lousy press we got over McFee.’
‘And . . . how do I travel to England?’ Alex asked flatly.
‘You can have the return half of my air ticket, if you like. I’ll get it transferred into your name.’
The sandwiches arrived.
Alex lay on the bed in his room staring at the ceiling. In the hours that had passed since Lorna drove away at the Hotel Split, he’d reached a firm conclusion. However resistant she might be, he needed her and he was going to have her again.
It wasn’t a pretty sight, looking back on his life. There seemed to be a trail of human suffering lying in his wake that resembled the work of a joy-rider in a parking lot. There was still time however, to create something good, something lasting from it.
The problem was how to get Lorna back. He’d ruled out returning to the hotel to tell her what he felt. Nothing would be accomplished while she still had Vildana to hide behind.
In the meantime there was also the question of Milan Pravic. A mass-murderer on the loose who had to be stopped from killing again.
He checked his watch. Four o’clock – three p.m. in London. It was time he let Roger Chadwick know what he’d found out.
He dialled the number he’d been given. A voice he’d never heard before answered and took a message. He replaced the receiver and waited for the call back.
Ten minutes was all it took before Chadwick’s sonorous tones boomed down the line.
‘Nice to hear your voice,’ Alex volunteered.
‘Oh, dear. Things must be bad,’ Chadwick quipped.
‘You know what’s happened . . .?’
‘Of course. It’s been all over the papers and the TV. You have my sympathy, dear boy.’
‘Thanks. Well the result is I’ve just been fired. My days as a charity worker out here are over, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh dear. That’s a pity, but I have to say I’m not surprised. Did you learn anything useful?’
Alex told him about Father Pravic. He also mentioned the existence of Vildana, but without revealing his own involvement in her escape from Bosnia.
‘A witness! You have done well. The UN will be delighted if they ever catch the blighter. Where’s the girl now?’
‘Don’t want to say any more at the moment,’ Alex stalled. The last thing he wante
d was to tell Chadwick about Lorna. He’d never hear the last of it. ‘I’ll call you again on a secure line in a few days’ time.’
‘Mmm. All right.’ Chadwick sounded impressed by his security-speak.
‘As to Pravic, or the Scorpion as his brother so descriptively calls him – it looks as if he’s done a bunk. No one knows where to. But Roger, the man’s really dangerous. He’s got to be found. He sounds like a psychopath and his brother says he’ll definitely kill again.’
‘Well as long as he does it in Bosnia, I don’t suppose anyone’ll be too fussed,’ Chadwick mumbled.
Alex winced.
‘Not fussed? Slaughtering women and children?’
‘We-ell it’s not really our problem, is it? We’re not the world’s policemen any more. You’ve done your best. We’ve done our best as UK Limited. I think I’ll pass the baton back to the UN War Crimes people in the Hague and let them take up the running.’
‘You wouldn’t be so bloody blasé if the bloke was on the loose in Hampshire,’ Alex growled.
‘But he’s not, is he?’
‘I don’t know. He could be anywhere.’
‘Got a description of him?’
‘Fair hair and blue eyes, not very tall. That’s all.’
There was a pause from the other end in which Alex thought he heard a sigh.
‘Bloody Bosnia,’ Chadwick muttered. ‘We’d all love to leave them to it, but they won’t let us. So what do you suggest – as our man on the spot?’ he added grandly. ‘We’re still happy to pay your exes if you think there’s anything more you can do.’
Alex hesitated.
‘Give me a day or two to think, and I’ll get back to you.’
‘Fine. Oh by the way, when you return to England there’s some good news for you,’ Chadwick continued, perkily. ‘Might put a smile on your face. It looks like the Provos are heading for a cease-fire.’
Alex replaced the receiver. He’d given hardly a thought to the IRA in the last few days. Their threat to his life had almost ceased to be real.
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
Scorpion Trail Page 22
