Chapter 10
Adnan drove all night, delivering the cargo as fast as he could. He drove through the Balkan Mountains under a canopy of leafless trees. During a still, winter night, the trees transformed into skeletons, pointing their gnarled twig fingers at the sky. Occasionally, the moon would peek through the clouds, casting dancing shadows from the tree limbs onto the road.
Adnan accelerated around the mountainous curves at 60 miles per hour. He had only one thought in his mind, deliver the cargo safely. Get to Montenegro carefully, quickly.
Occasionally, Adnan would slow down. He drove along this road so often; he knew where all the police hid on the side of the roads. The police weren’t the problem as long as the Serbian bitch remained quiet. Adnan would pay his fine in cash.
Around 7 o'clock in the morning, Adnan approached the border between Bosnia and Montenegro. He slowed down and parked his car behind an abandoned building that probably was a store before the Bosnian War. Now, bullet holes decorated the front of the store with numerous holes while a mortar blasted a gaping hole through the roof.
Adnan parked his car in southwest of Bosnia – the poorest area in the country with a dry, arid climate. Somewhere between Sarajevo and Mostar, the lush trees gave away to scrawny brush. Vineyards dotted along the country roads around Mostar as the river fed the thirsty grapes.
This area within the country experienced the worst of the Bosnian War. Soldiers shot up buildings along the countryside covering them with bullet holes. Unfortunately, the poor residents couldn’t afford to fix up the buildings.
Adnan turned off the engine. He reached into the glove compartment and removed a semi-clean dishtowel and a bottle of chloroform. Then he exited the car.
Adnan reached the trunk and placed his right hand on the trunk near the key hole. Then he bent over to listen with his right ear.
Everything was quiet until a soft chant reverberated across the hillsides calling Muslims to prayer. Five times every day, someone climbed the minaret tower of a mosque and chanted a prayer that echoed miles away. Adnan felt a tinge of sadness as the melodious chant penetrated his heart. He wanted to kneel down to pray along with the other devout Muslims, but he had a mission to complete.
After the chant had ended, he drenched the cloth with chloroform, unlocked the trunk, and sprang it open.
Yelena lay still there, sound asleep. Her face looked serene and peaceful while she mumbled, “Oh Keith,” in her sleep.
Yelena managed to get her hands out of the thick blanket. One of her hands moved as if she were reaching out for someone, embracing someone in her sleep.
Yelena's eyes fluttered open. Her peaceful face contorted into a frown, and she furrowed her eyebrows as dreams faded into reality.
Then Adnan reached over and placed the cloth over her mouth.
Subsequently, Yelena's frown softened and disappeared. Her eyes became blank, while her eyelids closed, as sleep enveloped her once again.
Adnan studied Yelena's face and then opened the blanket to examine her body. He whispered, “If only you were Bosnian. You would make someone a beautiful wife.” Then he folded the blanket over her body again.
He left Yelena's face poking through the blanket as she slept soundly.
Gently closing the trunk lid, Adnan leaned against the car, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He plucked out a cigarette and planted it squarely between his lips.
Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled a large plume of smoke. Then he immediately began coughing. Although southwest Bosnia was much warmer, the air was dry and chilly. Adnan always coughed when he inhaled his first cigarette of the day, but the cool, parched weather exasperated his coughing.
After Adnan had finished the cigarette, he flicked the butt to the edge of the dirt parking lot between a mass of dormant weeds. As one of Adnan's resting spots, he littered this area with cigarette butts.
Adnan climbed back into the car and returned the cloth and chloroform to the glove compartment. Then he started the car and headed to the border.
Adnan approached the Bosnian customs. He saw this crossing point had little traffic. He glanced at the Bosnian customs, a dark-red shipping container that had a window and door cut out the side. Bosnian blue and gold flag danced and fluttered in the wind on a flagpole next to the building. The Bosnian officials sat around a table inside, drinking coffee.
Adnan slowed the car to a stop.
Ahead of Adnan, a farmer parked his truck that had a severe case of rust leprosy with several bales of hay on the truck's cargo bed. A customs official stood near his door, studying his documents.
Adnan reached over and grabbed his insurance and inspection papers from the glove box. Then he pulled out his driver's license from his wallet.
Bosnians didn’t need a passport to visit other former Yugoslavian countries, but he ensured his paperwork was in order.
The farmer started his truck and pulled away. Adnan drove to the same spot the truck had occupied a few seconds ago, and rolled down the window.
“Sir, please turn off the car engine,” the officer demanded.
Adnan looked up at the officer, another large guy in full uniform. On his left side, a nightstick and handcuffs dangled from his belt while a Zastava pistol sat in its holder on his right side.
Adnan immediately turned off the car engine.
“May I see your documents?” the officer snapped. Adnan gently handed them to the officer. Customs official began to bark questions as his meaty large hand leafed through the documents.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’m going to Budva, Montenegro.”
“What’s your business?”
“I’m a driver for the Bosnian University of Management. I must pick up some supplies for the university.”
“Do you have any illegal contraband?”
“No sir,” Adnan replied with a beaming happy voice and added as an afterthought, “I’m clean. I’m just picking up supplies for the university.”
Officer stopped looking at the documents, and he studied Adnan's face.
Adnan cracked a half-crooked smile, like Oh, shucks, I’m just an ole, simple Bosnian boy.
The officer glanced over at the customs building; looking at his empty seat through the open doorway. His mug of coffee was cooling while two customs officers played cards.
Officer handed Adnan his documents and walked back to join his friends at the table.
Adnan’s smile widened, “Thank you, sir.” Then he pulled away.
Next, Adnan drove up a mountainous road to the Montenegrin customs. He saw the farmer drive through the stall.
The wealthy Montenegrin government built a small, plain white building with toll road stalls barricading the road. The Montenegrin red flag waved in the wind as the double-headed, golden eagle emblazoned on the flag flapped its wings.
Montenegro possessed more wealth than Bosnia. The government granted citizenship to anybody who brought more than half-million euros into the country, and the government officials never questioned where the money came from as people carrying suitcases full of cash scuffled through the airport and boat docks. Montenegro became the playground of the Russian mafia and other rich families with dubious pasts.
Adnan pulled up to a stall and stopped at a cross bar that prevented his entry into Montenegro.
A female officer with a clipboard began shouting questions, “What is your purpose for coming to Montenegro?”
Meanwhile, a male officer walked around the car with a flashlight, looking beneath the car.
“I’m here to pick up supplies for the Bosnian University of Management. I’m their employee.'
“How long do you plan to stay in Montenegro?”
“I’m picking up supplies in Budva today and will cross the border again tonight.”
“May I see your documents?”
“Yes, ma'am,” and Adnan handed the documents to the officer.
The officer quickly leafed through the papers and
passed them back to Adnan. The officer with the flashlight glanced at the first officer, nodding his head up and down slightly. Then he began to walk away to enter the customs building.
“Before you can drive into Montenegro, you must buy a road sticker.”
“I know, the road tax for Montenegro.” Subsequently, Adnan fished a five-euro note from his pocket and handed it to the officer.
Then the officer placed a translucent sticker on the inside of the car windshield. Afterwards, she added, “This sticker expires in thirty days,” and she reached over and pressed a green button that raised the crossing guard, “Welcome to Montenegro!”
Adnan cracked a smile and added, “Thank you,” Then he glanced at the female officer as she walked away.
Although Montenegro sided with Serbia during the Bosnian War, Adnan didn’t harbor any bitter feelings about Montenegrins. They attacked the Croats in Southern Croatia and not the Bosnians.
Adnan thought he could date a Montenegrin, especially with Montenegro attracting the wealthy from Europe while his country was stuck in poverty and petty politics. He definitely could marry a non-Bosnian, especially if she converted to become a devout Muslim.
Then Adnan drove the car into Montenegro after the female officer tucked her ass safely inside the customs building, out of sight of Adnan's molesting eyes.
Adnan arrived in Budva around 11 o'clock, just in time. Yelena screamed and banged on the car's trunk, but the traffic’s roar muffled her cries for help.
Adnan drove the car to the mountain peak overlooking the bay.
Sasha, an extremely wealthy Russian, bought the whole mountain for himself. He built a palatial three-story white house on the summit with orange terra-cotta tiles covering the roof. A ten-foot high, solid-stone fence surrounded the property. Teams of armed guards patrolled his land, keeping the curiosity of the public away from his property.
Adnan drove to the black, iron-wrought gate that barricaded the entrance. A burly guard left the guard shack and approached the car. Adnan rolled down the window.
“Hello, Adnan, long time, no see,” the guard's features softened as he extended his hand for a handshake.
“Hello, Dmitry. It has been a long time.” Then Adnan gripped Dmitry's hand and firmly shook it.
Yelena banged on the car's trunk and screamed, “HEEELLLPP! HEELLLPP!”
“I see you brought some cargo. Boss is expecting you. Just pull around to the front of the house.”
“Okay.”
Then Adnan drove through the gate and carefully maneuvered around a large water fountain, located in the center of the cul-de-sac. Then he stopped in front of the house.
Sasha stood there with his wild, long, black hair draped over his shoulders. He had a black, neatly-trimmed beard and mustache, while his eyes radiated a savage intelligence.
Sasha wore a white bathrobe that opened slightly, revealing the black swimming trunks underneath. He seemed immune to the climate's coolness with temperatures hovering in the 50s.
Two large bodyguards stood sentry on both sides of Sasha as they held AK 47s slung over their shoulders.
A third bodyguard stood further away, holding a leash to a ferocious German Sheppard. The dog barked maliciously as Adnan climbed out of the car.
Studying the two large bodyguards with the AK-47s, Adnan peered down at his tiny Zastava pistol that he tucked into his coat. He felt a little embarrassed, as if a length of a gun's barrel reflected the size of his manhood.
“Oh, Adnan, dear friend,” Sasha said jovially.
“Hey Sasha, long time no see.”
“When will Damir come down and pay a visit?”
“Damir has been busy. He wants to come, but he’s so busy at the university.”
“I heard you brought me a present?”
“Yes, sir; she’s in my car.” Then Adnan slowly pulled out his car keys being careful not to make quick movements. Sasha’s guards wouldn’t hesitate to riddle him with bullet holes if he reached into his pocket too quickly. Then he opened the car's trunk.
Yelena bobbed her head up while her dark hair sprayed in all directions, covering her eyes.
Before Yelena knew what happened, Sasha's bodyguards grabbed Yelena and pulled her out of the car.
Yelena struggled and squirmed to get free, but each guard held her arm and hands in a vice grip. Yelena continued to contort and struggle, but to no avail. She could not break free from these strong, powerful men.
“Boy, she’s feisty!” Sasha exclaimed exuberantly and then added, “Pin her legs; I want to have a look at her. Hurry up. I don't have all day.”
Sasha studied Yelena's petite body, like a diamond cutter examining his prized stone. He started with her legs. He sniffed them. Then he continued to sniff Yelena, working his way up. He paused around Yelena's crotch area, and whiffed strongly and murmured to no one, in particular, “Very nice. Very nice, indeed!”
Then Sasha continued to sniff Yelena until he reached her face. Suddenly, Yelena spat on him catching Sasha by surprise. She screamed, “You dirty, filthy pig!”
Sasha smacked Yelena hard across the cheek, flinging her head sideways. Yelena's head flew to one side from the powerful blow.
“Take her upstairs to her room,” Sasha snapped at his guards. Then Sasha wiped the dripping spit off his face with the collar of the robe and started laughing.
Afterwards, Sasha said jocundly, “Boy, she’s really a hell cat. We must keep these bitches in line. If we cut them any slack, they’ll think they own the place. I look forward to breaking her in and teaching her some proper manners.”
Adnan began to laugh. At first, his laughter started as a low chuckle that rose to a raucous crescendo.
Sasha flung his hand in a welcoming gesture, bowing slightly, “Come, my friend! Let’s have a drink.”
Searching for Stolen Love Page 18
