Ice turned to face a woman sauntering down the staircase. She flashed a smile. “Hello, big boy!” Clearly another veteran. Her face was caked with makeup and her breasts were almost exploding out of her lacy bra.
He returned the smile. “How are you this evening?”
She grinned. “I am good.” She sat on a stool next to him. “Are you an Englishman?”
Ice shook his head. “No, I’m an American. But you, you sound like a Russian.” Ice detected a faint glaze to her eyes. He glanced at her arms, searching for bruises or needle-marks. She looked clean.
She pursed her lips. “You’re very smart. I am Russian. Do you want to join me upstairs?”
“Not just yet. I’d prefer to have a few drinks first.” He gestured toward the chairs. “Would you like to join me?”
She looked disappointed. “OK, first we drink.”
No, thought Ice, drinking is all we’ll do. He bought her a vodka lemonade, took her by the elbow, and gently led her to a pair of armchairs. “Do you have many girls here?”
She nodded sipping her vodka.
“Are they all Russian like you?”
She shook her head. “Many different girls. You want another girl?”
“No, you’re very beautiful.” He took a swig of beer. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
She smiled. “No, not just one. Would you like to make me your girlfriend?”
“Maybe. I just want to make sure you weren’t with Kreshnik.”
The girl’s smile dropped. “You know Kreshnik?”
“I know he’s not the sort of man I would want to offend.”
She nodded.
“He owns this place, doesn’t he?”
She shook her head. “No, he runs it for Zahir.”
Ice took another drink from his stein. “It seems like a nice place.” He glanced over at the soldiers. They were surrounded by young girls, probably around the same age as the blonde from the farmhouse. Sadness washed over him. He locked eyes with one of the teenagers. She looked barely sixteen, yet her expression was cold and lifeless.
One of the soldiers grabbed her face and kissed her.
Ice lifted his drink and downed the beer.
He felt the woman’s hand on his knee. “It’s a lot nicer upstairs. You should come up and see.”
“I wish I could, but I’m out of time.”
“Oh.”
He stood. “When I come back, who should I ask for?”
“My name is Svetlana.”
“Nice to meet you, Svetlana.”
CHAPTER 5
Ice balanced two coffees, one on top of the other, as he fumbled with the combination lock on the front gate of the CIA compound. He managed to turn the knob and push the gate ajar before jamming his boot in, and flicking it open. He repeated the process at the front door, then strode into the operations room and handed one of the coffees to a middle-aged female analyst.
Louise smiled. “You’re an angel, James.”
“Thought you could do with a morning kick start. Is Frank around?”
“He’s in his office.”
Ice walked to his desk and picked up the intelligence pack he had finished the night before. File in hand, he knocked on the station chief’s door.
“Come in.”
Frank Everton looked more like a teacher than a veteran CIA field officer and station chief. His thick-lensed glasses rested on a bulbous red nose over a bushy gray moustache. With his ruddy complexion, some thought he was an alcoholic, but Ice knew he was a teetotaler.
Frank lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What can I do for you, James?”
He held out the report. “I’ve got an ICTY pack here I want you to go over.”
“Albanian or Serb?”
“You need to read it.” He dropped the report on the desk. It was the Zahir pack, containing details of war crimes perpetrated by the Gray Wolves.
Frank sighed. “Look buddy, we’ve spoken about this. These aren’t going to get up. The UN administration has made it perfectly clear they won’t be pursuing prosecution against any of the KLA. The last thing they want is Albanians rioting and burning everything to the ground because their heroes are dragged in front of an international court.”
Ice dropped his bulky frame into the armchair in the corner of the office and drank from his coffee.
“I’m sorry, James, but that’s the way it is.” Frank opened the file and flicked through it. “Zahir again. I told you not to work on this.”
Ice’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a criminal. And, he’s running for office.”
“I know. They released the candidacy list last night.”
“And we’re fine with handing Kosovo over to war criminals and mafia?”
“That’s not for us to decide. The State Department, NATO, and the UN all want a stable Kosovo. Guys like Zahir are the only ones who can provide that.” He looked up from the report. “James, you need to look forward, not back. I want you to focus on collecting against potential threats to the election process. The rumor mill is already running twenty-four-seven with conspiracy theories, assassination threats, and the like.”
Ice nodded. He understood Frank’s unwillingness to rock the boat. Kosovo was teetering on a knife’s edge. Elements of the Albanian population were looking for any excuse to riot and throw out the remaining Serbs. No one wanted to be held responsible for igniting that fire.
“You’re a damn good officer, James. You just need to step back sometimes.” He passed back the file. “Hey, you spoken to Vance recently?”
“Not in a while. He should be done in Sierra Leone this week.”
Frank smiled. “Yes and he’ll be arriving in a couple days. HQ is sending him over to run an audit on our source files.”
Ice frowned. “Isn’t he going on leave?”
“He’s here for a week first. Volunteered for the job. Something about wanting to check up on his old protégé.”
“It’ll be good to catch up.”
“Thought you might approve.”
Ice stood and turned for the door.
“Keep your chin up, James. You’re doing good work.”
He left Frank’s office with the Zahir intel pack in hand. As he headed for the exit, Louise spoke, “James, are you going to have time to go over these files?”
He knew the rest of the day would be taken up with paperwork preparing for the audit, but now he needed to get out and clear his head. “Just heading to the gym. I’ll catch you after lunch.”
Two hours later, Ice dumped his gym bag in the corner of his room and collapsed on the bed. Lifting had done little to dispel his fury. All he could think about during the session was the injustice of Zahir running for power. The man was a murderer and almost certainly neck-deep in criminal activity. Ice pushed off the bed and filled a shaker with protein powder. He shook it furiously as he studied the photo of his family taped to the wall. His mother had passed away so it was just him, his father, and sister. The photo, taken last year, showed them smiling in front of a Christmas tree. Downing the shake, he forced himself to focus. Freetown was only two hours behind, Vance would be awake. He picked up the satellite phone from his bedside table and walked outside.
Once the phone established a signal he dialed a number.
“Hey bud, what’s up?” Vance answered.
“Heard you’re heading my way.”
“I was waiting on confirmation. Seems your sources are better than mine. I’m looking forward to catching up, brother. How are things in the old stomping ground?”
“Zahir is running for office.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“And the UN don’t have an issue with that? Do they know that he and that douche-bag Kreshnik are probably mafia?”
“I’ve told the boss. No one’s going to do anything about it.”
“I’m guessing you have a plan.”
“I want to submit his pack to the OSCE.” Ice referred to the
body that oversaw the election process.
“You think they’ll stop him from running?”
“It’s worth a try. If it isn’t enough, I’ll dig up more dirt.”
“So if the war criminal angle doesn’t work, then hit them up with the mafia links?”
“Yeah. Frank can’t know. He wants me to drop it.”
“He didn’t see a family massacred in cold blood.”
Ice was silent.
“You OK?”
“Yeah, bro.”
“I’ll be there in 48 hours. We’ll work on this together.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get started on the legwork.”
“I’ve got to head out and finish my handover. I’ll drop you a message as soon as I work out my flights. Stay frosty.”
“Will do.” Ice terminated the call. He pulled out a local cell phone and sent a text message:
Tomorrow 1100 at the tavern in Sicevo
***
Ice had not slept well. Every time he managed to fall asleep his dreams took him back to the hill overlooking the farm two years earlier. Instead of the camera he found himself aiming a sniper rifle. It was his chance at redemption. But every time he tried to take the shot he baulked. No matter how hard he willed it he couldn’t squeeze the trigger. Time and time again he watched in horror as Kreshnik executed the entire family. He welcomed the morning when it finally arrived and freed him from the nightmare.
Three hours later Ice was driving a white Toyota Land Cruiser with blacked-out windows down Highway 9. He glanced in the mirror as he turned off onto a gravel road. The car that had been behind him since he left Pristina didn’t make the turn.
The road he followed wound its way along freshly plowed fields, over a small bridge, and into the town of Sicevo. He parked the four-wheel drive behind a hedge and walked to the village center. It was a cluster of red-tile roofed buildings around a dry patch of grass the size of a baseball diamond.
The only locals to be seen were two old men sitting on a bench outside the local tavern. He gave them a nod, pushed open the door, and ducked inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting he spotted three men sitting in a corner. They were broad-shouldered, wearing leather jackets and drinking cups of coffee. He walked past them, smiled pleasantly at an elderly woman behind the counter, and sat in the opposite corner.
The men watched him as he ordered a Turkish coffee. When it arrived, he lifted the cup in a mock salute and gave them a smile.
One of the thugs got up, glared at him and walked out. The other two continued to stare as he sipped the strong coffee. He dropped his hand to his hip and eased his jacket aside, giving him easier access to his Glock pistol. The front door opened and his fingers closed around the butt.
“Mr. Iceman, how are you?”
He smiled, taking his hand from the weapon. He knew that whiney voice. “I’m good Barishna, how are you?”
The former quartermaster of the Gray Wolves closed the door and limped to the table. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit and polished shoes. “I’m good. Very good, in fact. I just won a big KFOR contract. Now, I’m moving over a hundred tons of aid a day.”
“Occupation is always lucrative.” Ice tipped his head in the direction of the men in the corner. “Those guys friends of yours?”
Barishna shrugged. “A little bit of extra security. Lots of criminals around these days.”
“Yes, there are. Can I get you a coffee?”
“That would be good, thank you.”
He waved the woman over and ordered another two.
“So what did you want to know about? Zahir?”
“That transparent?”
Barishna nodded. “If it was anything else, you would have asked me over the phone.”
“You’re the only Gray Wolf I trust.”
“That’s because we are brothers.”
“Brothers indeed.”
“So what is it you want to know?”
“Everything. I want to know what Zahir’s up to. Where he gets his money. Who he associates with.”
“That’s going to take a while. I’m not close to him anymore. He and that snake Kreshnik dropped me as soon as the Gray Wolves were disbanded. You know they called me the cripple, the fucking cripple. Well, look how far their cripple has come.”
Ice interrupted the whining. “Zahir’s running for office.”
Barishna’s screwed up his weaselly features. “Yes, I had heard that.”
“I need to stop him.”
“You could always just kill him.”
Ice gave a cold stare. “I would prefer a legitimate approach. I’m not about to start a blood feud with that family.”
They stopped talking as the coffee was delivered.
Barishna continued, “You’re right. His family is very influential.”
“Yes, I heard they own a hotel on the outskirts of Brabonic.”
Barishna laughed. “He owns a lot more than that little hotel.”
“So you do know something.”
“Everybody knows Zahir is wealthy, and powerful.”
“And linked to the Albanian mafia.”
Barishna shrugged. “Who isn’t?”
“If he was involved in serious crime that would be enough to have him removed from the ballot.”
“Serious crime?”
“Sex trafficking, organ harvesting, drug smuggling.”
Barishna sipped from his coffee. “All of the above.”
Ice slid an envelope of cash across the table. “I need details. Get me names and places.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He got up and headed for the door. “Call me when you have something.” As he walked back to the Land Cruiser he checked his watch. Vance’s flight was due to arrive in an hour.
CHAPTER 6
At the head of the long dining room table, Zahir relaxed in his chair as Kreshnik took a seat to his right. Half a dozen other men were seated with them, all dressed similarly in gold chains, heavy signet rings, and black jackets. The table was laid with a smorgasbord of traditional dishes: spit-roast lamb, burek vegetable pies, baked beans, and trays of prosciutto, bread, and cheeses. Bottles of boza, a fermented malt drink, occupied the few gaps on the table.
The men waited as Zahir selected the choicest cuts of lamb. Once he was done, they filled their plates and started eating.
“How many Serbs did we send to the yellow house this week?” he asked as he shoveled food into his mouth. He referred to the facility in Albania they were using as a surgery to harvest organs from living subjects.
Kreshnik replied as he chewed. “Not many. Fucking KFOR have tightened the borders. We lost five girls at the Morine crossing when they searched one of our trucks.”
“Remind me, why are we sending girls to the yellow house when KFOR and the UN pay good money to screw them here? Why don’t we just send the men?”
“Some of the bitches have family searching for them. We only move those ones.”
“We need to find a better way.” Zahir squinted as he contemplated the problem.
“Boss, what if we freeze them? We can hide them in the food trucks,” one of the men suggested.
He sneered, “They’re not sides of beef, you idiot. They need to be alive or they're no good.”
Kreshnik stabbed the lamb with a knife. “How about we harvest them here. Then we only need to ship the organs on ice.”
“Can we get people with the skills?”
Kreshnik shrugged. “I can look into it.”
“Do that.”
The meal was interrupted by a knock on the dining room door. One of the men from the table got up and answered it. “Boss, the telephone guy is at the front gate.”
Zahir wiped his chin with a napkin. “Let them in. I’ll meet them out front.”
He pushed his chair back and stood. The others stopped eating. He waved his hand. “Keep eating, this could take a while.”
He left the dining room with Kreshnik in tow. They met thei
r guests at the front door. A smartly dressed businessman flanked by two ex-military types. He offered his hand to the Macedonian communications executive and spoke in English. “Mr. Taneski, my friend. I’m so glad you could make it. I trust you have been enjoying your stay.”
“Yes, your hospitality has been appreciated.”
He laughed. “It’s the Albanian way. Please, join me in the living room.”
Kreshnik led them through a side door. There were two couches either side of a coffee table. In the corner of the room were a TV and video player.
Zahir sent a housemaid to fetch coffee as they relaxed on the couches and made small talk. The two bodyguards and Kreshnik remained standing at the back of the room. When the pot arrived, he poured two cups of the thick black liquid.
“So, you’ve had some time to consider my business proposal.”
Taneski sipped the coffee. “I have, and I’m willing to meet you halfway with the amount you want.”
He shook his head. “That’s not enough. If you are serious about backing my campaign, you will need to pay the whole amount. This will secure Kosovo’s future and your communications contracts.”
The Macedonian placed his cup on the table. “We cannot afford to risk such a large amount of money, Zahir.”
“There is no risk. I will win the election.”
“The UN is running the election so if your… extra activities become public knowledge, then well...”
Zahir locked eyes with the other man. “The UN won’t do anything. My people would tear Kosovo apart.”
“We are willing to make a sizeable donation, but we cannot invest the amount you want.”
“And that is your final decision?”
“Yes!”
He shrugged. “I did not want it to come to this.”
Taneski’s bodyguards glanced at each other.
“Kreshnik, show him the video.”
His second-in-command turned on the television and pressed play. The recording on the screen was shocking. The Macedonian businessman was naked, and thrusting behind a semiconscious girl. She looked young, early teens.
Zahir smirked as the man’s face paled.
“You piece of–”
PRIMAL Inception (The PRIMAL Series) Page 4
