“Are you all right, Valeria? I heard that you got out of the hospital. You’re lucky you left. Army units showed up and nobody has heard any news from that part of town. What happened to you? You look like you’ve been attacked.”
“I think I need to sit down,” she said, straining to remember his name. Nothing.
“That’s a good idea,” he said, escorting her to the couch.
She wondered what he was doing here. It seemed odd to her that he would show up out of nowhere to check on her. Didn’t he have a wife? Or did they ever get married?
She sat down on the far right side and felt a sharp pain in her right thigh. She didn’t react to the pain, beyond slowly rising up to see what had happened. The man had turned his back on her, muttering something she couldn’t hear. He glanced at the table and walls, furtively looking back at her. She caught this, but pretended to stare out of the window at the fading light. She turned her attention to the couch and her thigh, seeing fresh blood pour out of a shallow cut in her leg. The gleaming blade of a large butcher knife protruded between the cushion and the armrest of the couch. Now, where did that come from? Oh, yeah. Now I remember.
She glanced up at her friend, who was slowly approaching the bedroom door. Without thinking, she pulled the knife out of the couch by the flat side of the blade and stared at it. A crusted layer of dark red blood covered at least half of the blade. She hid it along the side of her bleeding leg and stood up slowly.
“Valeria, what in hell happened here?” he said, transfixed by the scene in the bedroom.
“Same thing that’s gonna happen to you,” she hissed into his ear.
Ten minutes later, after using the rest of the charcoal lighter fluid and most of the wood in the apartment to burn the man’s body beyond recognition, she opened a small painted trunk next to the door and took out a warm fur hat and thick, fur-lined leather gloves. She took a moment to adjust everything before taking her favorite gray wool overcoat off one of the coat hooks next to the front door.
She pulled the coat over her bloodied hospital scrubs, wondering why she hadn’t changed these yet. It didn’t matter. She just needed to get out of her apartment and find a more secure place to stay. She knew the streets weren’t safe, but neither was staying in her apartment. Since arriving from the hospital, her windows had been smashed in, and someone had thrown a small firebomb into her bedroom. It was only a matter of time before something more dangerous occurred. She was on the second floor and someone could easily climb in one of the broken windows. Maybe she could find a vacant apartment on an upper floor in her building. Even better, she might find someone that would take her in. She hated being alone.
A gunshot echoed through the open window, startling her. She turned toward the kitchen and walked over to the knife holder, searching for her favorite cutting knife. If she was going out into the darkness, she’d better arm herself. Failing to find the large butcher knife, she settled for the smaller one, which would be easier to hide in the spacious pockets on her jacket. She didn’t want to walk around holding a knife. Someone might mistake her for one of the lunatics walking the streets.
Chapter 31
3:03 PM
MS Tallink Superstar
Tallin, Estonia
Anatoly Reznikov walked into the bar and took a seat at a small booth nestled against the window of the ferry’s highest lounge. He glanced out of the window at the city of Tallin, which had taken on a gray pallor from the oppressive rain clouds hovering above the city. Tallin was an ugly city from this vantage point, nothing but a sea of colorless office buildings, punctuated by several shiny mirrored high-rises that represented Tallin’s downtown area. He glanced at the other side of the lounge and could see vestiges of Tallin’s Old Town. Towering church spires, byzantine-style domes and the red shingled roofs of ancient medieval buildings. He craned his neck slightly and saw a few of the Old Town’s intact watchtowers. No wonder this side of the ship hadn’t been crowded.
He settled into his seat on the two-thousand-passenger ferry, which looked more like a cruise ship, and signaled for the waitress that stood inside the bar, scanning the lounge’s patrons for anyone suspicious. He ordered a double vodka, straight, from the attractive, bored-looking blonde waitress and turned his attention back to the industrial wasteland out his window. He’d love to poison this city, too. He didn’t know why, but staring out into the city, he felt powerful, like he held the fate of the entire city in his hands. He had experienced the same feeling last night, right before he had left the hotel in St. Petersburg.
Staring out at St. Isaac Square from an expensive suite at the Ambassador Hotel, he drank the bottle of Rodnik vodka acquired in Nizhny Novgorod and monitored the situation in Monchegorsk via news media and internet sources. He knew sticking around Russia was a major risk for him, but he had taken precautions. He had undergone a series of minor cosmetic surgeries over the past five years, designed to alter his appearance enough that even his closest college friends wouldn’t recognize him on first inspection. He had finished with these surgeries two years ago and purchased an expensive set of Russian identity papers. For the right price, everything was for sale in Russia.
Once media sources confirmed that Highway M18 had been closed by the army, he knew the virus had been successful. His elation lasted a few seconds, before an angry desire to acquire more of the virus hijacked him. He had the power to destroy entire cities, but had sold himself short with the terrorists. He should have insisted on taking more for himself, but his position with them had been precarious. He felt lucky to have escaped. They could have shot him at the site, but since he insisted on leaving immediately with the first encapsulated batches, they were forced to pretend that he was free to go. They couldn’t afford any problems with the remaining laboratory staff at the time, since they were critical to the preparation of the remaining capsules.
A small shudder brought his thoughts back to the ferry, followed by three short blasts on the ship’s horn, which were muffled by the lounge’s thick glass windows. He watched as the city started to move out of his view and barely noticed the drink placed on his table. The ferry would take him to Helsinki, where he would take the next available flight to Stockholm. If the Stockholm address didn’t provide results, he would move on to Copenhagen, then Germany. Eventually, he would find more of his virus. He had a notebook filled with addresses, all provided by careless, arrogant conversations in his laboratory.
Chapter 32
5:25 PM
United Nations Detention Unit
The Hague, Netherlands
Srecko Hadzic stared at his image in the small mirror on the wall of his private cell. He looked like shit. Thick, bruised bags hung under his narrow brown eyes. His eyes were bloodshot and his face looked drained of blood. His stomach growled, adding to the misery and reminding him that his ulcer was acting up again. He hadn’t slept or eaten well for nearly three weeks. Ever since his nephew visited with news that the traitor Marko Resja, or whoever he claimed to be, had been discovered in Argentina.
Finding him had been a stroke of pure fucking luck, but he’d take it. A higher power wanted this to happen, and the fact that that whore Zorana had been discovered at Marko’s side proved it. Srecko clearly remembered the day that Marko raised her decapitated head out of the gym bag. He even recalled seeing the nose ring through the thick, blackish blood on the head’s battered face. Nobody forgot it, especially the cowards that had recounted the story to the war crimes tribunal in exchange for a reduced sentence or their freedom. He’d deal with all of them eventually. His nephew, Josif, kept track of everyone.
He rubbed his eyes vigorously and ran both of his plump hands through thick silver and black hair. He really needed to try and eat something at dinner, but he’d need to visit the infirmary first to see if they could give him some form of stomach medication. Maybe the purple pill he had seen on television. He caught motion in his peripheral vision and turned to the door. One of the guards had just passed the s
mall window located three quarters of the way up the dark green door. He turned to his desk unit and stared at the computer screen. He had forced himself to postpone checking his email account.
As a designated e-Court, the International Criminal Court (ICC) had mandated that each detainee have a computer in their cell, which was linked to a single computer at The Hague Court. Only Srecko’s defense attorney had access to that computer, and the communications were designated as privileged. Still, they were cautious when using the electronic link, as neither of them fully trusted the detention center personnel. Pressure to convict high level members of Milosevic’s regime had intensified.
He sat at the desk and activated the monitor. He waited a few moments, and typed in the passwords required to access his mailbox. A new message awaited him, titled “Recent Developments.” This might be it. He clicked on the message, which was brief.
“Z in BA again. No M. Proceeding at first opportunity. Will supervise video production on site. J.”
Srecko realized his fists were clenched. Zorana was alone in Buenos Aires. He’d prefer to grab them both at the same time, but this would work just fine. He could use Zorana to draw out Resja and dispose of them both…after long, unending torture sessions. He felt better knowing that Josif had flown out to personally handle the entire affair. He still had a few trusted Panthers in Argentina, but nothing compared to the comfort he took in knowing that a loyal blood relative had his best interests at heart, and Josif was as capable as he was loyal. He responded to the email.
“We’ll need Z to find M. Proceed with filming, but don’t terminate production. Expect to watch first cut shortly.”
He deserved to watch her suffer for the hell they had put him through. The gang war between Mirko’s “Avengers” and his own Panthers had turned Belgrade into a bloodbath. He’d lived like an outcast, running from one safe house to the next, trying to stay one step ahead of Mirko’s assassination teams. He should have spent the time figuring out how to escape Yugoslavia and enjoy what remained of his criminal fortune. Instead, the NATO bombing campaign kicked into full gear, and the threat of NATO ground intervention drove Milosevic to accept the terms of a NATO peace plan.
The plan involved the withdrawal of Yugoslavian forces from Kosovo and the presence of peacekeeping forces along the Kosovo border. Since most of his Belgrade staff had disappeared, either killed or gone into hiding, he was forced to travel to the Kosovo front in an attempt to personally order the withdrawal of his paramilitary forces. He had managed to locate the senior field commander and give the order, but Srecko was intercepted by American commandos on the way back to Belgrade. He never saw Serbia again, and Zorana would pay the worst for his forced exile.
He wanted them to work her over using every form of torture and sexual assault imaginable, but he needed her alive to lure Resja out of hiding. He couldn’t wait to watch her suffer. Maybe Josif could smuggle a thumb drive into the prison. He had managed to smuggle more than that over the past few years. If not, he was willing to risk having it sent over the computer. The thought of watching Zorana on film stirred something in his pants that he’d suspected had gone dormant over the past two years. Maybe he would add the little blue pill to his pharmacy request. He could imagine watching much of Zorana’s movie debut with his pants down. He pressed “send.”
Chapter 33
3:25 AM
Angels Night Club
Palermo, Buenos Aires
Jessica held both hands high in the air and closed her eyes, letting the deep rhythmic beat pulse through her body. She could still see the lights flashing in sync with the music through her eyelids. The sensation left her excited and slightly dizzy, so she opened them to the same scene. A cloud of synthetic smoke enveloped the dance floor, temporarily adding another layer of anonymity to the darkened, frenetic environment.
She had been dancing in the club for nearly three hours and could keep going all night. She loved the energy, the people, and the free abandon of writhing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of strangers. She was in her element among the hip, chic crowd at Angels, by far her favorite club off Serrano Square. The music switched between house and techno, never stopping, and she only took the occasional break for a quick drink. As the music shifted speeds, she took this as her cue to take another break and made her way to the sleek bar.
Set toward the back of the club, a layer of low tables and plush chairs shielded the packed cocktail area from the thronging mass of revelers jammed onto the dance floor. She broke out of the chaos and walked confidently through the maze of tables, completely aware of the attention she attracted leaving the relative safety of the pack. Her hypnotic dancing and apparent self-absorbed demeanor on the dance floor kept all but the most persistent or drunk men from bothering her. The bar area was a different story. Most of the club sharks operated in these waters, and despite the fact that she didn’t mingle or flirt while refueling with a quick drink, few of them could resist her presence.
She wore a black sleeveless cocktail dress snugged tightly against her athletic body, accentuating her sculpted arms and legs, which gave her an advantage over the endless ocean of gorgeous women in the club. Jessica’s daily regimen of running, calisthenics and classroom physical training gave her an unmatched physique among the typical nightclub crowd that dieted and rode machines at a gym in order to squeeze into their slinky outfits. Her organic level of fitness turned heads everywhere, male and female.
She could sense that the shark population had grown around the bar, so she didn’t plan to linger for very long. She ordered a shot of high end tequila, which was delivered promptly, compliments of someone watching her at the bar. She downed the shot, skipping the salt and lime ritual, and winced slightly as the tequila burned going down. She felt the warmth radiate outward, pleasantly drifting and buzzing her head. A glass of water accompanied the shot, and she squeezed the lime into the water, gulping half of it down before heading back onto the dance floor. She never glanced around to see which one of her many admirers was vying for a moment of eye contact in return for the shot of tequila.
As she melted back into the crowd of dancers, she picked up the electronic dance beat and started to move, keeping an eye on the bar area. She wouldn’t be surprised if a few of the sharks tried to follow her out into the fray, but she was pretty sure that she would be safe for now. 3:30 was still early for Buenos Aires, and the heavy drinking hadn’t really started. With Daniel, they never stayed out much later than two in the morning, so she had limited experience in the pre-dawn party hours. She had stayed out past dawn the night before and had found the experience distasteful. She loved to party, but hated fighting off the desperate men during the dreaded final hour around last call. Tonight, she would dance for another half hour and suddenly disappear.
Fifty minutes later, she stole a glance at her watch and decided to walk out. It was later than she had expected, but still too early for Daniel to call. She didn’t expect to hear from him until the operation had ended, but remained hopeful that he might sneak in a call to her. Pushing her way through the dense crowd, she broke through near the entrance. VIP booths lined the windowless wall to the left of the club’s vestibule, packed with an exclusive-looking crowd. She ignored the blatant stares and a purposeful nod from a man surrounded by champagne bottles and supermodel-beautiful women.
The humid, slightly polluted warm air was a welcome break from the stale, sweaty air inside, but the respite was short lived. The Buenos Aires air was immediately ruined by dozens of smokers, either standing in the endless line snaking down the sidewalk, or huddled in a small designated smoking area on the other side of the entrance. Buenos Aires had gone smoke free in public buildings the year before, which created a gauntlet of smokers outside of most buildings, day or night.
She stepped out onto the street and was treated to the immediate presence of a taxi cab, which was a welcome change from the night before. She had closed a different club, along with nearly three hundred other drunken
partiers, at about six in the morning, and taxi cabs must have been in demand across most of the city for the same purpose. Luckily, Serrano Square was within walking distance of their apartment, if you didn’t mind a forty-minute walk. Tonight, she wasn’t in the mood to walk, and the taxi was her salvation from a long night.
She started with a lavish dinner at ten, followed by a walk around the lively Serrano Square…until the line started to grow at Angels. Seven hours of nightlife, two evenings in a row had taken its toll, and she looked forward to a long sleep. She opened the taxi door and gave the driver her address, drifting away in her thoughts for several minutes as the driver made his way down familiar streets to their high-rise apartment building on Avenida Raul Scalabrini Ortiz.
**
Dimitrije Gravojac watched the whore walk to the front door of the high-rise building, happy he could play a role in bringing this traitorous bitch closer to her end. He had been driving cabs in Buenos Aires for nearly a decade and didn’t know the woman from Belgrade, but his compatriots had filled him in on enough of the details that he wished he could be there when they caught her. He was surprised that they didn’t want him to bring her in tonight, or jump her when he dropped her off. He could have easily opened her door in an act of chivalry and bashed her over the head with a blackjack, but they had expressly forbidden it. It didn’t matter either way. He had been paid nearly five hundred dollars for this easy job. He had tried the night before, but he couldn’t get his taxi to her on the side of the road. There were too many pushy drunks on the street and they eventually forced their way into the cab. This night had been easier, since she left before the masses.
Now they had her address and could follow her more easily. He continued to watch as she used some kind of card to open the front door. Inside, a security guard rose to greet her. High end apartment, he thought. He’d pass this information on to his contact along with the address. Headlights appeared on the street behind him, and he decided to get moving. He didn’t want to make her suspicious, though if she had turned around, she would have caught him staring at her for way too long. She was probably used to it. Dressed like a whore and all made up…what did she expect? As he applied pressure to the accelerator, he thought about asking his friends if he could be part of whatever happened to this woman. He had a good idea what they had in store for her. As he pulled away, he glanced at his rearview mirror and saw a minivan turn into the ramp leading down to the Bianca Hotel’s parking garage.
Black Flagged Redux Page 23
