by Fritz Galt
“I’ve seen you here before,” Mick continued. “Haven’t I?”
The woman studied her spiked heels, but the man was in a more congenial mood. “I’ve been here before.”
“Do you mind if I join you?” Mick asked boldly.
It would be hard in such society to turn anyone remotely familiar away.
Mick glanced up the wharf and recognized one of the MUP agents who had followed him in the Lada to Ravanica. The stocky man, along with his partner, had shot at his brother in the escaping pickup, then crashed in pursuit. Now he stood watching obliquely with one arm in a sling.
Mick dragged his chair to other table and said in a rush, “I have some information that you might find useful.”
The man seemed startled by his urgency, but eager for advice.
“First I want to know where Zoran is,” Mick said. The image of the young warlord standing over the Dutch soldier was still fresh in his mind.
“Which Zoran?” The man gave a short laugh. He had regained his cool.
“Look,” Mick said, “I can find the Arkans and the Seseljs on the evening news.” The leaders of the White Hand and Chetnik paramilitary groups were visible daily in current politics. “And I can find the Ilics and the Parics in the phonebook.” Gang leaders lived out in the open all across Serbia. “But I want to see this damned Zoran.”
“I can’t help you,” the man said.
Mick tried to remain calm. A constant game in the Balkans was to see who kept his cool the longest.
The woman squirmed and inserted a cigarette between her teeth. The young man didn’t miss a beat whipping out a lighter. In the flash of light, Mick saw for the first time that she was barely a teenager.
Mick carefully watched the man’s hand as he returned the lighter to his pocket.
“Hey.” The man laughed and displayed his empty palms. “What are you worried about?”
The girl looked away. Clearly, she wasn’t used to such gamesmanship.
Mick resumed their conversation. “Your marks have been traced back to their source in Germany. We know who’s sending you money. They’ll be hanged unless I find this Zoran.”
“Why would I care about Germans?” the young man said.
“You’d care if your source of money dried up. You’d care if your boss started leaning on you for more money.”
The man laughed. “It’s just pocket change.”
“I’m prepared to cut off your source,” Mick said evenly. He pulled a mark from his pocket and shined the ultraviolet light on it. A glowing orange circle with a B stamped in the middle emerged from the black paper. “Baden. Friedrich Holst is your supplier. Tomorrow he’ll be in prison.”
The man took another swig of beer. “You want to know about Zoran?”
“I’m listening.”
The man looked at the girl, who crossed her legs and averted her attention. “All right. Who are you?”
Mick shook his head.
“You must promise not to stop Holst.”
“We’ll see,” Mick said. “Who exactly is Zoran?”
“I don’t work for him. Let me make that perfectly clear. I’m not a hood. His father was a petty thief most of his life. He had a small business by the railroad station. When a foreigner walked past him, he would try to sell the foreigner a brick. If the foreigner didn’t buy the brick, the implication was that Zoran’s father would beat him with it. Zoran is like that, too, only today he doesn’t need to beat you with a brick.”
“What’s his business?”
“Everything. Casinos, prostitutes, banks. He even has several generals in his pocket. He’s a rich kid. He has hundreds of women. I’m surprised you don’t know about him.”
“I’ve been away,” Mick said. “Where does he hide out?”
“Hide out?” the man laughed. “Zoran doesn’t hide out. He lives at the Hyatt.”
That helped. “What are his goals?”
“Money. Money. Money. He likes women and wealth. He’s a Belgrade success story.”
“What does he plan to do next? There’s only so much you can squeeze out of Serbia.”
“He squeezes it out of more than Serbia. He runs the oil trucks from Slavonia in occupied Croatia. His men take the German-made TVs, VCRs and washing machines from Bosnia. He gets a huge profit.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“He’s more ruthless than the rest. It’s in his blood.”
Mick stared at the MUP agent on the wharf. He hadn’t moved.
“Does he run the Hyatt?”
“Not at all. He stays there legally. He pays his way.”
“What’s his room number?”
“I’ve only been there once at a—” he looked at the girl. “At a party.”
“Room?”
“Room 950. You can’t miss it. It’s the penthouse in the middle of the top floor.” He was looking nervous. “Say, you’re not going to take on Zoran.”
“Why not?” Mick lifted his beer glass in a toast.
There was no difference between familiarity and friendship once one drank together in the Balkans. Even while Mick was coercing him, the man was trying to warn him about Zoran.
“Thanks for the tip, kid.” Mick stood up.
The young man glanced out into the night and drew his thumbnail across his throat.
Only then did Mick realize that he had misread the young man. His question about taking on Zoran hadn’t come out of concern. It was a delaying tactic.
Footsteps pounded across grass and onto the concrete pier.
Mick dropped to the deck. Two gunshots rang out simultaneously, one from the wharf and the other from the general direction of the MUP agent.
A bullet whizzed overhead.
He had no choice but to crawl to the far side of the boat, step on the edge and plunge headfirst into the murky river.
The MUP agent slid his blistering hot pistol back into his arm sling. Upon the young man’s signal, a bodyguard had come running out of the woods firing a gun. The agent’s aim had been accurate as he blew off the back of the bodyguard’s head.
The bodyguard now lay heaped on the wharf, while people scattered into the forest.
But one man came running up and emerged in the light of the boats.
The agent smiled when he recognized the face. It was an American diplomat named Harry Kahler.
Onboard the floating restaurant, the young man and his girlfriend were screaming and pointing at the water behind the boat. But nobody, especially their bodyguard, responded.
The agent squinted into the darkness at the Sava River. He could make out ripples from a submerged swimmer.
He stepped back and signaled his MUP partner in the woods. They would circle back through the trees and catch Mick Pierce when he reemerged, probably near the refugee camp at the end of the island.
Mick resurfaced gasping for air. Disgusted by the pungent water, he crawled onto the riverbank.
He planted his feet on spongy land and stood up to get his bearings. Judging from the lights that reflected off the river, he must be a hundred yards from where he had jumped into the water. The parking lot must be straight through the woods behind him.
He spun around and ran smack into a man with a bandaged head. The man grinned and slammed a massive fist into Mick’s jaw.
Mick hit the ground and landed on his hands and knees. He grabbed his face. He couldn’t see through the shooting pain. After a dangerous moment passed, his mind cleared.
When it came to slugging a wounded man, Mick had no scruples. He crashed his elbow into the man’s throat.
The man staggered backward and toppled over a bush. Mick lunged on top. In the darkness, he grappled to pin the man’s arm behind his back.
The man was laughing.
“Okay. What gives here?” Mick said hoarsely. “Who are you?”
“You and your wife are interesting ones to track,” the man said into the dirt. “You take us places.”
Mick could barely unde
rstand the thick Belgrade drawl. “Who’s taking you where?”
“First to Ravanica. Now Gypsy Island.”
Mick’s eyes finally adjusted after the initial blinding light. In the distant illumination cast by the houseboats, he pushed the bandage off the man’s forehead. It was one of the MUP agents. “You followed us in the Lada. Who are you?”
“I’m nobody.” The man grimaced in pain and laughed at the same time. “I’m with the Ministry of Internal Affairs. You lead an interesting life. But your love life?” He snorted. “Want some advice? Get rid of your wife.”
“Why were you following me?”
“At Ravanica we were following you. Tonight we’re after Karta. Now you’d better get off of me. My partner won’t treat you so well if he finds me like this.”
“I don’t have the Karta.”
“Your brother does. We thought you’d lead us to him.”
“I have no idea where the hell my brother is.”
He calculated for a moment. Why should he share information with the secret police? The agent didn’t know any more about Alec than he did. But maybe he knew something about Zoran.
“It’s not the Karta I’m after,” he finally said. “I’m looking for Zoran.”
“Zoran? You won’t find him here.”
“You know Zoran?”
“Who doesn’t? He’s a crazy man. Truly crazy. Drugs and women have driven him out of his mind.”
Mick relaxed his grip, yet still held the agent down and out of sight. The man was laughing again.
“What is it?”
“So the American Embassy is taking Zoran on. I knew you people were determined, but I didn’t know you were crazy. Why didn’t you come to us?”
“The MUP? Don’t kid yourself.” Mick felt revulsion rising within him. He pulled the agent to his feet. The secret police had once shared information with Yugoslavia’s Justice Department. Now they were anything but cooperative. They turned violence on and off like a spigot anywhere in the country they wanted. Mostly they promoted chaos.
“Take this as a friendly warning,” the agent said. “I’d leave Yugoslavia if I were you.”
Mick got off the man and let him regain his feet.
Free again, the agent drew a pistol and waved it at Mick. “Start walking.”
Under the gun Mick had no choice but to comply, and they began to head back to the floating restaurants.
“You Americans have become Public Enemy Number One around here. Tonight my partner had to shoot a Serb to save your ass.”
“Your partner shot someone else?”
In the uneven glimmer of the boats, policemen cordoned a body off from a crowd of onlookers.
“Who was he?”
The agent shrugged. “Somebody’s bodyguard.”
When the police saw Mick, they would take him into custody.
Mick was trying to formulate a plan of escape when he caught a quick blur of blond hair in the shadows. Then a glint of light on a steel blade.
The figure lunged onto the agent and tackled him neatly. The gun fell to the ground.
“Get away,” the voice whispered fiercely. “What are you doing here?”
“Alec,” Mick cried.
Alec held the man’s head down and slit upward under the bandage. The bandage fell loose, exposing a long series of stitches.
Alec bent down swiftly and gave the agent a head butt, and the man let out a cry. Blood began to spurt from the reopened wound.
“Damn you,” Mick said. “I was hoping you’d help me, not get me into more trouble.”
“Well, I don’t exactly need the secret police snooping around either,” Alec said.
Alec shoved the groaning agent away.
“I thought I got rid of these agents at Ravanica,” Alec said.
Then Mick remembered the car chase out of the monastery. “You shot the bullet through their windshield?”
“They put a bullet in my friend,” Alec said.
Mick followed Alec’s quick glance toward the river where the police had begun widening their search.
“A piece of advice,” Alec said. “You don’t belong here any longer. I suggest you leave the country.”
The MUP agent wasn’t doing well and his groaning turned into a pained shriek.
Mick looked up and saw the policemen running toward them.
When he looked back, his brother was gone.
“Curse it.” The police were after them both.
So Mick reached down and found the MUP agent’s pistol in the grass. Then he, too, slipped into the woods, dodging trees that loomed up like phantoms.
Harry scratched his head as he threaded his way through the police back to his Zastava.
No one was left at the riverfront to tell him what had happened, but it had all the earmarks of Mick’s involvement.
He shuffled onto the grass-carpeted parking lot and found his car in the dark. He pulled the door open and settled behind the wheel.
“Hello, Harry.”
The voice beside him belonged to Mick.
Harry smelled the stench of river water. And the seat was dripping wet.
“What happened to you?”
“Sorry I missed my dinner party. Was my food any good?”
“Did you just torpedo our operation?” Harry spat out. “What the hell were you trying to pull just now?”
“I was working on something slightly different. I invited you to dinner because I didn’t want you to mess things up here tonight. Now I need your clothes.”
“There’s a dead man back there.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Mick said. “Now your clothes, please.”
“Find your own damned clothes. These are my clothes. I’m going to wear them. And I’m not going to drive you home to your own dinner party, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“We’re not going home. I’ll explain along the way.”
Mick admired himself in the lobby mirror at the Grand Hyatt. Harry’s new pants fit perfectly. He even detected a hint of cologne on the shirt collar. Harry was quite a guy.
The Hyatt sparkled. It was the crown jewel of Balkan hotels. The pillared atrium with a garden and waterfalls was simply magnificent, and completely out-of-place in the war-weary city.
Room 950 was just one more door on the top floor. But it was no ordinary room.
A serene and beautiful woman opened it when he knocked. Bingo. He recognized her from the projector slide at the CIA and from Ravanica, where she had shot the patriarch. It was Alec’s girlfriend Dragana.
He also detected a flicker of recognition on her part.
“Check him,” a male Serbian voice said from inside.
Her surprise at seeing Mick transformed into a pleasant smile. “You’ll permit me?” she asked in English.
Her hands frisked under his arms and over the small of his back. He stopped her when they reached his pants pocket.
“Not a word.” He pulled out the MUP agent’s pistol, clicked off the safety, and pressed the muzzle through her silky black hair and against her temple.
“Who is it?” the voice asked.
Mick gave himself a moment to take in the suite. A floor-to-ceiling window peered east over the office buildings of New Belgrade. Beyond the Sava River were the twinkling yellow lights of the old city. Just inside the door was a wet bar. And the demanding voice had come from another room.
“Let’s go.” Mick pushed her in the direction of the voice.
The adjoining room was large, with a black marble Jacuzzi. A slender young man and several nude women soaked in the foamy water.
Mick remembered the man’s eyes from that tragic day in Srebrenica.
“What do you want?” The man sounded remarkably mature for his age.
“You’re Zoran,” Mick said as much to himself as to the stranger.
The man laughed. “Who else?”
Mick was faced with a choice. He had the killer in his sights, but a larger question hung in the air. “Why did
you take the Karta?”
Zoran raised two arms over the bubbles. “I don’t see Karta.”
Mick jerked Dragana’s hair, bending her neck back.
Zoran’s eyes flashed. “Who is this man?”
She froze in Mick’s grip.
“It’s all right,” Zoran said. “You can let her go. What do you want to know about Karta?”
“Where is it?”
“What’s the use? There’s nothing you can do any longer. It’s on its way to Szentendre for a makeover.”
“Why are you redrawing it?”
“Simple. It’s not big enough. It’s not big enough for me. It’s not big enough for the Serbian people.”
“How much bigger do you need?”
“I need a part of Greece and a piece of Bulgaria.”
“And you expect the Greek Church to endorse the new borders?”
Zoran stirred his toe in the suds. “Won’t they be surprised.”
“You’re doing this to anger them, aren’t you?”
Zoran shrugged “I’m just a peasant boy. What can I do?”
“Not much, if I can help it. Now where’s the Karta?” He yanked on Dragana and she gave a small cry.
“Karta is at the great Serbian outpost north of Budapest on the great Serbian river called the Danube. It’s too late for you. By the time you see it, the forgery will be complete. Even an expert won’t know the difference.”
“Why are you doing this? Doesn’t Serbia have enough territory, for God’s sake?” He pulled the woman off her feet.
“Leave the girl alone.” Zoran stood up and extended an arm. Dragana gently pulled away from Mick.
He let her go.
She rubbed the back of her neck and walked into Zoran’s soapy arms.
Zoran pointed accusingly at Mick. “Why would you want to harm such a pretty girl?”
Mick stepped out the door and shoved the pistol back into his pocket. He had been so close to pulling the trigger. But he wouldn’t have shot at her.
Zoran held Dragana by her trembling shoulders and dismissed the other women with a glance. “I’m sorry to expose you to such criminal elements.”
“I need to get away,” she said.
“I understand.”
