by Joseph Badal
The tension in the room was becoming thicker than the oppressive Washington humidity. Tanya and Frank had, off and on, been at each other’s throats over the past two hours. Raymond sat slouched in his chair, his face in his hands. Bob glanced at his watch. “It’s eight-fifteen. Let’s wind this–.” The telephone interrupted him.
Raymond answered it. “Who . . . Stein, you said?” He listened for several seconds, then covered the mouthpiece and looked across at Bob. “It’s someone from Photographic Analysis. She claims she’s got something to show us.”
“Tell her to come right up,” Bob said. “What do we have to lose?”
“Got lost!” Rosalie apologized when she rushed, blushing and breathing heavily, into the room fifteen minutes later. “Rosalie Stein, Photographic Analysis,” she announced. “I’m new.”
“Wonderful!” Frank murmured. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
Rosalie’s face reddened even more. She looked around the room, then focused on Bob at the head of the table. She walked to him and put six pictures on the table in front of him. “I looked at a bunch of photos today. Nothing stood out. Then, a little while ago, I noticed something in one photograph. I went back through the pile and discovered I’d missed the same thing in some of the others.
“Twelve of the satellite shots picked up one of the Serbs’ top generals on several different days over a fifteen-month period. In three of these shots, the general is standing next to a woman. She’s not his wife of record.”
“Who’s the general?” Tanya asked.
“Karadjic, Antonin Karadjic,” Rosalie answered.
“Great! Karadjic!” Frank exclaimed. “The psycho has a girlfriend!” He shoved his chair away from the table and stood up.
“The guy’s way up there,” Frank continued. “He carries out the government’s toughest assignments. He and the Serb President go way back. They were schoolmates and came up through the Yugoslav Communist Party system together. He’s been involved in every major Serb battle since the breakup of Yugoslavia. Nearly every time there’s been a massacre – of Croats, Bosnians, Slovenes, Gypsies, or Kosovar Albanians – Karadjic’s troops are likely to have been involved. The guy’s a master tactician, but he’s a maniac. He enjoys the killing. The Serb leadership can’t do without him.”
Frank’s words seemed to energize the others in the room. They all appeared suddenly alert, sitting up straighter, studying the photographs with renewed enthusiasm.
Frank returned to his seat at the table and pulled one of the pictures to him. He studied it for several moments. “Holy shit!” he suddenly exclaimed. “Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Think of what?” Raymond asked.
“Karadjic could be the Serb leadership’s Achilles’ heel. If we’re talking destabilization, Karadjic could be a terrible embarrassment to their regime.”
“Good point,” Raymond said. “But what’s with these photographs?” Raymond switched his gaze toward Rosalie. The others in the room followed his example.
Rosalie’s face reddened again. “Well, uh . . . I think the woman’s a Gypsy.”
Bob sat up straighter in his chair. Ever since Michael’s kidnapping back in 1971, just the word “Gypsy” gave him a chill. “What about Gypsies?”
“So what if she’s a Gypsy?” Frank said caustically. “We’ve got–.” A sharp glare from Bob shut Frank up.
“She wears traditional, colorful Gypsy clothing. Her head’s always covered with a bright shawl.” Rosalie paused. She had their undivided attention. “Each time she shows up in a photo, a major Serb offensive occurs no more than one week later. I checked the dates of her visits against dates of Serb offensives.”
“Are you saying before Karadjic goes to war, he has sex with this Gypsy?” Raymond interjected.
Rosalie shrugged.
Tanya said, “From what I know about the Serbs’ feelings about Gypsies, I doubt Karadjic would have a Gypsy mistress. But maybe it’s not about sex. She could be a . . . fortune-teller.”
“Jee-z-z!” Bob blurted out. Heads snapped around. The members of Bob’s team shot incredulous looks at one another. “Thank you, Ms. Stein,” Bob said. “We’ll look into this. Tanya, why don’t you escort Ms. Stein back to her office. I wouldn’t want someone as important as she is to get lost again.” Bob smiled at Rosalie to make sure she knew he was teasing her. “And while you’re there, Tanya, go over all her photos. Maybe you two will come up with something else.”
As Tanya and Rosalie left, Bob turned to Frank. “Call the Serb desk. Get a message to Bessie, our agent in the Balkans. I want to know if she knows anything about Karadjic meeting with a Gypsy woman. If so, what’s their relationship? Who is she?”
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’ve tried to reach you for two days, General,” Olga Madanovic said, leaning toward the man standing in front of her. She put her hands on her hips and gave him a challenging look, as though demanding an apology. “I chalkmarked the fire hydrant, just as I always do. What happened?”
General Darius Alexandrovic took a seat and smiled at the blond American agent. “You Americans are so damned impatient. What do you think? I wait all day for you to leave me a signal?”
Olga turned away and looked around the bungalow she rented in the Yugoslav capital. She reached over and pulled the curtains aside a couple inches and peered out the living room window at the General’s staff car parked out front, and then at the Belgrade skyline in the distance. She inhaled deeply and brought her anger under control. “Things are getting critical. I need you to respond to my signals as quickly as possible.”
“I’m managing logistics for the whole Serb Army. NATO’s bombing us every day and blowing up our supplies. It just makes my job more impossible. On top of everything else, I’m helping you, but only so this civil war doesn’t escalate into a worldwide conflict.”
“Yeah, General. Do you think your assistance might also have something to do with the million dollars we put in a Swiss account for you over the last eighteen months?”
Alexandrovic leaned back and stared, grimfaced, at the CIA field agent. Finally, a smile creased his features. “Well, you’ve got me there, Olga, darling. So why did you want to see me? I can’t stay much longer. Have you finally decided to go to bed with me?”
Olga frowned at the Serb general, keeping the disgust she felt from showing. Their cover was that they were having an affair. In reality, that would never happen.
“You know, my dear,” he said, “it would be better if we did fuck once in awhile. There’s nothing better than authenticity in a cover story.”
Olga smiled at him. “Tell you what. I’ll do it if you sign over your Swiss bank account to me.”
“You’ve an inflated opinion of yourself. But it’s helpful to know you have a price.”
Olga dropped her smile. “What do you know about Antonin Karadjic meeting with a Gypsy woman?” she said.
“That’s what this is all about?” Alexandrovic laughed. “You wanted to see me about Karadjic and his Gypsy fortune-teller? What Washington idiot sent you on this mission? So what if the great Karadjic is superstitious – he likes to get his fortune told. If I recall correctly, Nancy Reagan consulted with a fortune-teller.”
“You’re telling me it’s common knowledge Karadjic consults a fortune-teller?”
Alexandrovic laughed. “No, not common knowledge. No general wants people to think he’s sharing secret battle plans with an ignorant Gypsy woman who rides around in a horsedrawn wagon. Only a few members of the senior command know about this. Whatever the woman tells him seems to make him happy. It’s harmless, Olga. Nothing to get excited about.”
“Tell me when he meets with the fortune-teller,” Olga said.
“Before he goes into action,” Alexandrovic quickly responded. “You know, before a battle, or . . ..” He stopped. “Oh, now I understand. You think there’s a connection.”
“I want to talk with the Gypsy woman. Can you make it happen?�
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Alexandrovic stared at her. “What a shame!” he said. “That long, blond hair, those green eyes, those breasts bulging like cantaloupes beneath your sweater.” He cupped his hands under his chest. “Someone should be making love to you. Instead, you’re risking your life for madmen.” He sighed.
Olga let her anger get the best of her. “Thank you for the inventory of my physical attributes. But don’t worry about whether or not I’m getting laid. And get it out of your head once and for all that you’ll ever have a chance. This is a purely business relationship.”
“All right, Miss Olga. Be in Dusan Park tomorrow at sunset. If I can arrange it, the Gypsy woman will be there. Don’t approach her. She’ll act like she’s peddling something and will come to you.”
“How will I know which Gypsy woman she’ll be? That park’s always full of Gypsies hawking their goods or begging and stealing.”
Alexandrovic rose from his chair and walked across the room. Turning back to Olga, he said, “She’ll ask if you want to look at some jewelry. You say yes. Her name’s Miriana. Miriana Georgadoff. Hot little number, that Gypsy girl.” He paused and stared at Olga’s breasts.
“Concentrate, General.”
Alexandrovic smiled at Olga. “Tie a blue scarf around your neck. Oh, by the way, I’ll tell the woman you’ve agreed to give her a thousand dollars.”
Alexandrovic left the room, laughing.
CHAPTER SIX
“Mr. Danforth, Cooney here in the Ops Center. There’s coded message traffic for you.”
“Where’s it from, Cooney?”
“Zone thirty-two. Field Agent Bessie.”
“Be right down.”
Bob rushed out of his office and quick-walked down the hall to the elevator. Bessie – Olga Madanovic’s code-name – was one of the agents he’d personally recruited. That gal’s got bigger cajones than most men, Bob thought. But the thought didn’t make him worry any less about her safety.
He took the stairs down to the Cryptography Operations Center, punched his personal access code into the keypad by the center’s entrance, and entered the long narrow room. An assortment of cryptographic machinery occupied tables on both sides. Bob shivered at the cool temperature in the room. A thirtyish, pimply-faced-man with spiked blond hair looked up from his chair when Bob opened the door.
“Hey, Cooney.” Bob said.
“Good to see you, Mr. Danforth.”
“How do you stand it?’ Bob asked, staring at the man’s short-sleeve shirt. You could hang meat in here.”
Cooney patted the machine in front of him and said, “Gotta take care of my babies. Can’t have them overheating.” Cooney then reached for a sheet of paper on the table next to him. “I’ve got your message decoded.” He handed the paper to Bob.
Bob scanned it, then went over it again.
Gypsy fortune-teller to K. stop. Relationship known to only a few in military hierarchy. stop. Connection between K meeting with Gypsy and Serb military campaign. stop. Meeting set with Gypsy sunset tomorrow. stop. Bessie. End Message.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Raymond Gallegos breezed into Bob’s office. “What’s up, Bob?”
Bob pointed at a carafe sitting in the middle of the table. “Help yourself to some coffee. We’ll wait ‘til the others get here.”
Tanya and Frank arrived together just when Raymond settled into a chair. “We got information on the Gypsy woman Stein picked out in the photographs,” Bob told them. “She is a fortune-teller. Bessie meets with her at sunset tomorrow – about noon our time. Let’s make some assumptions based on what we know and develop contingency plans.”
“This fortune-teller business is intriguing,” Frank said. “Stein told us each time Karadjic met with the Gypsy a Serb military action followed within a week. I checked it out. She’s right.”
“And Bessie confirmed that,” Bob added.
Frank paused, got up from his chair and walked over to the window. Hands in his pants’ pockets, he rocked back and forth, heel to toe to heel.
“Let’s assume Karadjic uses this fortune-teller like the ancient Greeks used the Oracle at Delphi,” Frank said. “He asks her questions about the timing of major offenses; schedules attacks based on her answers. Let’s also assume he’s not crazy enough to give her details about his plans. How can these assumptions help us?”
As Tanya and Raymond mulled over Frank’s question, Bob sat back and waited. They worked best when they brainstormed without interruptions from him.
“We don’t want Karadjic dead,” Tanya said after a thirty-second pause. “There would just be another psychopath in the wings waiting for his chance to take over. But we have to make an example of the general. And interrogate him.”
“So?” Raymond asked. “What do you have in mind?”
Tanya massaged her forehead. “I think we need to expose the bastard.”
“And how the hell are we going to do that?” Raymond asked.
“Hold on,” said Bob. “Maybe we can do more than expose him.” He chewed on his lower lip and steepled his hands in front of his face. What he was about to propose would be difficult to execute. “Maybe we can use the fortune-teller to put him in the hands of the War Crimes Tribunal at The Hague. Karadjic on trial would be a perfect way to show the world what sorts of people make up the Serb leadership.”
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Raymond said. “The last I knew, Karadjic was safe and sound in Yugoslavia.”
Bob put his hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “We’re just going to have to kidnap General Karadjic and deliver him to The Hague.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jack Cole gaped at Bob Danforth. “Let me get this straight. You want to snatch Karadjic. Then, you want to mount a massive information campaign against the Serb leadership based on testimony you think Karadjic will give. This is supposed to embarrass the Serb hierarchy and dissolve international support for the Serbs. You want this campaign coordinated among the Pentagon, the State Department, Congress, and the White House over here, and among NATO, the European Union, The Hague, and God knows who else overseas. All to convict one lousy Serb general. Does that about summarize what came out of days and days of meetings with your resident group of geniuses?”
Bob smiled and nodded. “That was a damn good summation.”
“Why don’t we just send in a Special Forces team and blow the sonofabitch away?” Jack shouted.
Bob smirked and said, “I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing. You know the answer to that, Jack.”
Jack caught the look on Bob’s face and groaned. “Yeah, I know the answer to that. We’d be violating U.S. and international law. Demonstrations would start up outside every one of our embassies. Some other cowboy would replace Karadjic – maybe someone worse than him. And the ethnic cleansing would just keep on happening. Does that about cover it?”
Bob sighed and dipped his head.
“How do you propose grabbing him?” Jack asked.
Bob looked at his watch. “I’ll give you my answer in three hours, after our agent in Belgrade reports in.”
CHAPTER NINE
For one thousand American dollars Miriana would have agreed to meet with Dracula. The message she had received from an aide to General Alexandrovic described the woman she was to meet in the park and told her how to approach her. Miriana scanned the tiny park until she spotted a woman who seemed to match the description she’d been given seated on a bench. She walked along a meandering path in the woman’s direction.
“Would the pretty lady like a nice ring?” Miriana asked in Serbo-Croatian, stopping in front of a blond, thirty-year-old woman wearing a blue scarf around her neck. She noticed the woman’s deep blue eyes, straight nose, and prominent cheekbones.
The woman stared at Miriana, as though she was scrutinizing every aspect of Miriana’s appearance: Her age – nineteen, her long black hair and pale blue eyes, her red and black shawl, bulky blouse, and ankle-length, and heavy skirt th
at Miriana knew failed to conceal her voluptuous figure.
“You have rings to show me?” the woman finally responded.
Miriana sat next to the woman. “Miriana has the best jewelry in Belgrade,” she said, setting a leather pouch on the bench between them and opening it to spread out an assortment of cheap rings and bracelets.
They stared at the jewelry rather than at each other.
“I expected someone older,” the woman finally said, still looking down. “Every fortune-teller I’ve ever seen was old and could pass for a witch.”
“I will take that as compliment,” Miriana said, unable to resist smiling. “What do you want from me?”
“What were you told?”
“That you would pay me one thousand American dollars if I met you here. Is this about sex? I am no whore.”
The woman laughed out loud. Several people passing by on the path stared. “No!” she said in a whisper. “This isn’t about sex. Why don’t you pick up one of your rings and show it to me.”
“First, I want the money.”
The woman took a white envelope from her purse and slid it across to Miriana, who snatched it off the bench in a lightning-quick motion and slipped it into the bodice of her dress. Then she picked up a gold ring and made a show of trying to get the woman’s interest.
The woman took the ring, slipping it on a finger as she said, “You know a Serb general named Karadjic?”
Miriana’s mouth dropped open. “Did General Alexandrovic tell you that?”
“It’s not important. What I want to know is when you are scheduled to see him again?”
“I’m not going to tell you shit,” Miriana said. She pulled the ring off the woman’s finger, rolled up her package of jewelry, stood, and began walking away.
