The Code

by Nick Elliott

  ‘Time to use these?’ Falkon asked, holding up his carbine. ‘Come, we get better shot over there.’

  I told Aleksandar to wait where he was and, seeking cover among the trees, we ran over to the west side of the camp. From here the whole site was exposed, while we were concealed among the pines. Finding a vantage point, we dropped to lie prone on the ground, carbines resting on our rucksacks, stocks pressed into our shoulders.

  The scene below was confused. Iveta had reached her father and was trying to pull him out of the fire. A man was standing on the opposite side of the fire, arms folded, legs apart, unarmed. Was this who they called Kirurg, the Surgeon? He was tall and heavily built. His fatigues were neatly pressed, his black jackboots shining and his black beret precisely positioned on his large head with the badge positioned above his left eye. An armband clearly displayed the Black Hand’s skull and crossbones insignia. There was no question who was in command. Now though, his manner seemed more one of curiosity than command at what was happening before him: Valdis struggling and groaning loudly amid the flames as Iveta managed to drag him out, showing the hysterical strength of someone acting in desperation.

  Either side of where the Surgeon stood were two men also in fatigues, both cradling automatic rifles. The Surgeon had raised his hand now and was speaking, though I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Iveta looked up. She’d managed to drag her father a few yards away from the fire. Now she stood up, facing the Surgeon defiantly. The wind had strengthened. Clouds swept across the moon and the fire’s flames, fanned by the wind, leapt and soared into the night, casting shadows that shifted and wavered in a scene from a gothic nightmare, the dark forest providing a macabre backdrop.

  The Surgeon’s two guards were as big as him and stood close in either side. If we were to take out the Surgeon, we’d have to take out the guards first. ‘We take the two either side of the Kirurg.’ I spoke softly. ‘Shoot the one on his far side and I’ll take the nearest. Single shots.’ Falkon would be the better shot, I was sure of that. ‘Then we both aim for the Kirurg. There must be more but I can only see one beside the fire. Try for him as well but he’s close to the old man and the girl, so be careful. There’ll be others down by the vehicles. They’ll come up when we start shooting. Ready?’

  We fired simultaneously. Falkon struck his target with his first shot. I fired hitting mine with my second and third shots. Both men fell but the Surgeon was quick. Instead of running down to the vehicles as I’d hoped he might, he leapt round the fire and seized Iveta. I fired and missed. Neither of us could get a clear shot at him. To add to the chaos, Aleksandar was running down towards the camp. He was shouting but I couldn’t catch what he was saying. He reached them. Valdis lay on the ground, motionless, and the Surgeon held Iveta round the neck, shielding himself with her body. The other man, the one who’d poured spirit on the fire, now moved to cover Valdis with his weapon, crouching down beside him. Aleksandar stood before them, gesticulating as he spoke. It looked as though, in desperation he was trying to negotiate, to reason with the Surgeon, Serb to Serb. But the Surgeon was holding the cards. As with the GRU crow – how many days ago now? – I’d made a mistake in thinking he wasn’t armed. He’d drawn a pistol and was holding it to Iveta’s ear. She had no way to resist.

  Falkon held up a hand, cocking his head. ‘Listen,’ he whispered. The sound of an engine. I could see it now: the Zastava truck climbing the hill up from where it would have been parked further down the meadow alongside the missile transporter. Its headlights blazed, throwing a harsh, brilliant light across the site, catching the figures as frozen silhouettes. It stopped short of the fire and the driver and another man got out. Then shots rang out, hitting the front of the truck. One of its headlights was hit and died with a hissing sound. The driver and his passenger crouched down beside their vehicle, using it as a shield, unsure where the firing was coming from. It only gave them cover from our side, but I couldn’t see who was shooting either. Whoever it was, they were opposite us on the eastern side of the camp.

  There was another single shot and a loud scream. The Zastava’s passenger lay on the ground clawing at the grass in a vain attempt to get up and escape. Another shot, and now he lay still. Three down, at least three remaining: the Surgeon, who had Iveta, the driver and the man by the fire guarding Valdis – only now he had Aleksandar too, pinned to the ground with his boot on his neck.

  The Surgeon spoke to him and he released Aleksandar and returned to Valdis, pulling the chair upright, lifting his head up by the hair and slapping him until he regained some level of consciousness. Now the Surgeon, still holding the pistol, lifted Iveta bodily, holding her struggling in his arms like a disobedient child, and stepped towards the fire.

  ‘Old man,’ he shouted, his voice clearly audible now above the wind. ‘You think you are strong to resist me, but now? Your daughter’s turn. You want to watch her burn alive? So it is her or the Muslim dirt of Pristina? What is your choice, old man? Decide! The code or your child?’

  Iveta fought desperately as Valdis, alert now, realised the terrifying dilemma he faced: surrender the launch code, save Iveta, but condemn the people of the Kosovan capital to death; or watch his cherished daughter suffer an agonising end before his eyes and save the city. How do you make a choice like that?

  It had all happened so fast. Now I stared down at the scene, knowing I had to act. Falkon was looking at me, waiting as I hesitated, cursing my own indecision. It was a standoff, but it wouldn’t last forever. The Surgeon moved closer to the fire. Then, as if making a sacrificial offering to the gods, he looked up at the night sky. But it wasn’t their blessing he was seeking. Clouds had covered the moon and the rain had begun again – a gentle patter at first but within seconds it had intensified into another torrential downpour. Now the only light came from the truck’s remaining headlight as the rain beat down, dowsing the fire’s flames. It didn’t take long for the Surgeon to realise that it had dowsed his chance too. The fire was hissing loudly as it died and with it his bargaining chip. But he still had them both: father and daughter.

  He dropped Iveta to the ground but still held onto her, keeping her on her feet with his arm round her neck, the pistol to her temple. The Surgeon shouted something at the man holding Valdis, then turned and began heading towards the truck, using Iveta as his shield. For a moment they were both illuminated by the Zastava’s single headlight cutting through the rain. Another shot rang out – a single round, again fired from the other side of the camp.

  ‘Ilijan!’ whispered Falkon. ‘I knew it was him!’

  Maybe it was a just a warning, for neither Ilijan, Falkon nor myself could get a clear shot at the Surgeon without risking Iveta’s life. He’d reached the truck now and pushed Iveta into the cab before climbing into the driver’s seat alongside her. He killed the headlight and in the darkness turned and began descending the slope. I fired hoping to hit its engine or its tires but it kept moving. The driver who’d brought it up to the clearing no longer had cover and was running down the hill after it. Again it was Ilijan who picked him off. The man’s arms flew up and he pitched forward into the mud.

  Aleksandar was unarmed, guarded by the remaining Black Hand gangster. Valdis was not moving, either unconscious or dead, and neither Falkon nor his brother could get a clear shot at that one remaining man, Valdis’s tormenter. The scene that had been so brightly illuminated by the fire, the headlight and the moon, was now in darkness. I moved down the slope towards the fire, my carbine raised. But I was only halfway down when I heard a dog baying. I froze as I watched the beast charging down into the clearing from the eastern side, Ilijan’s side. I raised the rifle to my shoulder, but the tormenter was armed too. He stepped forward and fired wildly before, seeing the dog bounding towards him, panicked, taking off down the slope in the direction of the Zastava, which was now out of sight. Whether the hound acted instinctively in pursuit of the running man, or whether Ilijan had instructed it, I never found out. It swerved and, as it ap
proached the fleeing figure, leapt, landing across the man’s shoulders and back, bringing him tumbling to the ground. This was no police dog trained to apprehend but not injure its target. It was trained to kill wolves and intruders. The man’s scream was choked off as the dog’s powerful jaws closed round his throat. For a few moments he tried to wrestle with it, twisting and turning to free himself from the dog’s teeth. Then he lay still. I watched as the dog prowled round the lifeless body, sniffing the blood, until Ilijan approached and called it off.

  There was no sound now except for the rain and the rustling of the wind in the pines. Even the dog was silent. I walked down to the firepit, where Aleksandar was crouching beside Valdis.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think he will live.’

  Valdis was unconscious, his breathing shallow, his pulse fast and where it hadn’t burned, his skin was clammy and cold. Most of his clothing, his shoes and one side of his face and body were burned, the skin red or charred. ‘We need to get him back to your camp,’ I said, addressing the two brothers. ‘Then off the mountain, to a hospital. You have transport?’

  ‘We can find something,’ Falkon said.

  ‘Where’s the nearest town with a hospital?’

  ‘Novi Pazar. It’s thirty kilometres south of here. But it will take time to drive off the mountain. It is just a track.’

  ‘What about the missile?’ Aleksandar asked.

  ‘They can’t fire it now. We need to contact the Admiral. It needs military intervention. But first we get Valdis to a hospital.’ It was the only consolation: at least we’d prevented the thing being launched – for now. The anniversary of the battle had come but the moment had passed and been pushed back six hundred years into the mists of time. I still felt sick: Valdis dying, Iveta captured by a maniac and taken God knows where. Did he think he could still use her as a lever to get at the code? Maybe it would be better if Valdis did die, and the code with him.

  I looked around at the carnage and thought of the score I had still to settle. And at that moment the gods bestowed on us their climax to the night’s events : a jagged fork of lightning pierced the sky followed seconds later by an ear-slitting clap of thunder.

  I turned to Aleksandar, Falkon and his brother: ‘Let’s get him out of here.’

  Chapter 23

  Novi Pazar General Hospital

  15 June 1999

  It took us six hours to come down off that bloody mountain and on to the hospital at Novi Pazar. The ancient van we were travelling in belonged to the shepherds, and it smelled like it. The track was heavily rutted and flooded from the downpours. We were heading downhill, which hastened our descent, but on several occasions we slid and were in danger of plunging over the side. Falkon was driving and was confronting the urgency of the situation with a zeal bordering on recklessness. We’d dropped Ilijan off at the camp and between us Aleksandar and I kept Valdis as comfortable as we could, removing some of his clothing and laying damp pieces of cloth over the worst of his burns. We laid a woollen blanket over him and Aleksandar had painkillers which, with difficulty, we got him to swallow. He drifted in and out of consciousness but even when vaguely responsive his mutterings were incoherent. At one point he became agitated and shouted Iveta’s name. At the hospital Falkon left us, saying he would return to the monastery. I carried Valdis in my arms into the reception area, where we waited while Aleksandar spoke to a young duty doctor.

  The fact that we’d averted a nuclear attack hardly seemed to matter at that moment. We sat in silence, exhausted, Valdis still in my arms, Aleksandar beside me. The minutes passed before our gloomy contemplation was broken as someone shouted my name. I looked up to see the Admiral walking down the corridor. Even more of a surprise was his companion. Dr Kirstin Mackenzie hurried up to us and knelt to examine Valdis.

  ‘God, you’re a sight for sore eyes. How the …?’

  ‘Later, Angus. We need to get him into a ward where we can treat him.’

  At this point a young orderly arrived wheeling a trolley. I gently laid Valdis on it and the two of them disappeared down the corridor followed by the Admiral who returned after a few minutes.

  He sighed. ‘Doesn’t look good I’m afraid. What happened up there? Are you alright, Aleksandar? Good to see you again, even in these dire circumstances. And I’m grateful for your interventions.’

  ‘We’ll tell you,’ I said, ‘but is there anywhere round here we can get a coffee and something to eat?’

  Aleksandar hailed a passing orderly who eventually returned with three cups of lukewarm coffee and a plate of greasy burgers, these topped with raw onions and tomatoes. As we ate we gave our account of events.

  ‘So the missile is still up there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And the Surgeon has Iveta and is no doubt preparing his ultimatum as we sit here discussing it. He’ll be assuming he can still offer Iveta’s freedom in return for the code. Aleksandar, can you call one of your informants to see if they can track them down? I doubt they’ve gone back up the mountain. More likely they’ve hightailed it back to some Black Hand hideout in Belgrade. We never saw it but I’ve been wondering if he had the PAL controller with him in the truck when he drove off.’

  ‘It would have been an aluminium or steel case – the size of an attaché case,’ said the Admiral. We continued speculating as to the Surgeon’s next move and our own course of action until Kirstin came back along the corridor. She looked first at the Admiral, then turned to me. ‘There was nothing we could do,’ she said, touching my arm.

  ‘He’s dead.’ I couldn’t quite believe it.

  ‘I know how close you were. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘As we’d feared,’ the Admiral sighed. ‘I’m sorry too, old boy. We’ll need to arrange for his body to be removed from here. More immediately, we need to find his daughter.

  Now there was a signal, Aleksandar was speaking on his phone. ‘They’ll get back to me,’ he said after finishing the call. ‘It’s a conspicuous vehicle. They’ll check the Black Hand’s haunts both in Belgrade and Smederovo.’

  I turned to Kirstin. ‘What killed him? The shock?’ I remembered seeing the results of a crankcase explosion on three engineroom crew who’d suffered third and fourth degree burns. Cause of death had been stated as shock, but that was after a huge explosion. Valdis had suffered terribly, but he hadn’t been subjected to that kind of blast.

  ‘I believe so,’ said Kirstin. ‘Death is most often caused by shock in fatal cases of burn injury – cardiogenic shock. Lung injury may have played a part too. We can’t be sure and you weren’t there earlier while he was being tortured. There may have been other contributing injures. I don’t think we can expect any dependable post-mortem examination here.’ She turned to the Admiral. ‘It’s best to get him somewhere where a proper autopsy can be carried out.’

  ‘We’ll take care of that,’ he replied. ‘And any decision on where a funeral will take place rather depends on Iveta, if and when you find her, poor girl. I would counsel against Latvia under the circumstances, but it would be up to her.’

  ‘Alright. We need to get back to the monastery to pick up Aleksandar’s car,’ I said. ‘And we need to be certain the bastard hasn’t taken her back up the mountain with him.’

  As Aleksandar summoned a taxi I took Kirstin to one side and we exchanged awkward small talk. Over the past days she’d appeared in my thoughts unbidden: at the recital, at the Balkan Express restaurant, on the climb up through the forests of the Jankov Kamen mountain. Those thoughts had been a balm on my troubled mind. To see her now, even under these circumstances, was almost overwhelming, but there was too much else going on, and too little time for us to return to the ease we’d fallen into so quickly in Scotland.

  ***

  As we pulled up outside the monastery courtyard, Falkon appeared accompanied by his brother. His first words were, ‘It has gone.’

  ‘The missile?’, I asked, as if I didn’t know.

  ‘Yes, roc
ket. It has gone. Transporter still there, but rocket has gone. Also, Ilijan was in the bačija and heard helicopter circling round summit. He saw it too. Big helicopter. Then it disappeared. Must have landed. He heard it again but didn’t see it this time. He went back to their camp this morning. Only truck there – transporter, I mean. No rocket.’

  I guessed the Surgeon would have got word to his GRU friends who’d arranged to bring the weapon into Serbia in the first place. You don’t conjure up a heavy-lift chopper out of thin air without military contacts to organise it. At least the missile had not been armed.

  ‘That seals it then,’ stated Aleksandar. ‘He will have taken her to Belgrade or Smederovo, one or the other, but we try Belgrade first. Agree?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  Father Jovan had joined us. We thanked him and Falkon and bade them goodbye, and in Aleksandar’s Saab began the long drive back to the capital.

  ‘I’ll take the first leg,’ I volunteered, ‘but if you see me driving with my eyes shut give me a nudge.’

  ‘You mean if I’m not asleep myself.’

  We were approaching the outskirts of Belgrade when we picked up a phone signal again. We stopped and called the Admiral. I told him of the missile’s disappearance, but he already knew. ‘The intelligence we have suggests it’s been taken back to Abkhazia. That’s unconfirmed but the chopper was seen heading eastwards from the Bulgarian coast. What’s your ETA Belgrade?’

  ‘We’re almost there.’

  ‘Let me know when you’ve located Iveta and the Surgeon and I’ll arrange for a team to take over.’

  ‘Don’t you mean if?’

  He ignored that. ‘We have access to a NATO unit now. They’re standing by, awaiting my instructions. Just don’t try and take the Surgeon on yourself.’

  It sounded fine in theory. All we had to do was find them, call the Admiral and he’d send in a handy little team of commandos to rescue Iveta and finish off the Surgeon. For a moment I let myself believe that was the way it would happen.