KVSPARROW: A Shadow Wars Novel

by DAK

Chapter Seven

  My fourth day in Pristina began well enough and without any hint of the problems to come. I eschewed breakfast, choosing instead to have a pot of room service coffee while preparing an encrypted email to transmit to InSol. I needed to report my progress thus far and encrypting the email on my laptop and then transferring it to my thumb drive prior to transmitting it through Hushmail gave me the best level of practical security. Once I had finished I pulled on the leather jacket, tucked the watch cap and gloves in its pockets and the M57 into my left side waistband. The spare magazine went into the left jacket pocket as well since, unlike my Barbour, the leather jacket was not long enough to cover my rear pocket where the magazine would print. Dropping the local cell phone into a right side pocket, I headed out for the day. There was a different bellhop on duty at the desk. He too noticed me and waved as I passed through the lobby. This was a bit off since that hadn’t happened on the previous two days I’d been staying here. I chalked it up to my now being seen as a regular instead of a short term guest and nodded back. The bellhop grinned in reply and then became distracted with his own cell phone, apparently sending or receiving a text. What in the hell did anyone do before there were cell phones? I can remember the times before cell phones and frankly, I can’t quite figure out how we got on without them. Still, the modern habits of texting and cell use are often slightly annoying in their ubiquity. Thinking crotchety old fart thoughts of this nature, I turned right, walking through Peyton and across Bill Clinton Boulevard, intending to find a random internet café.

  As is my habit when operating, I was watching for signs of surveillance. That meant more than checking to see if some guy in Groucho Marx glasses and mustache was ducking out of sight whenever I turned around. I was more concerned with seeing the same faces in widely different places and whether the folks I saw around me acted naturally or stood out a bit like my two friends from the other night. Creative anticipation without projection is the key. An operator thinks about what to look for, remembering past examples and then looks to see if the same thing is present in the current environment without forcing it to be so. If it then appears to be present, the operator will deploy a counter measure or two depending on what they wish their opposition to believe. I mention all this because as I strolled through a housing estate in a generally south westerly direction, a young guy came hurrying up an access path into the estate from the direction of Bill Clinton Blvd. He slowed immediately when he saw me and turned quickly into the doorway of one of the small ground floor shops that serviced the inhabitants of the area. That was a bit of a reaction but since I’d also seen him sitting on a bench directly across from the Grand when I left, it pinged my radar pretty hard. The guy looked Albanian, worn an expensive black leather jacket, pointy black shoes and dark jeans. His jacket was zipped closed so I couldn’t see his shirt but I was betting on something colorful and a bit flash…typical for low level mafia types. Given that he’d come from in front of where I was heading as I took a short cut through the housing estate, I was betting that, if he really was the opposition, there was a vehicle somewhere on the main drag which had dropped him off to walk through and see where I was. No sooner had I thought this than he pulled out a cell phone, turned away from me and began speaking quickly to someone on the other end. I kept walking, not taking any particular notice of anything and turned to follow the concrete walkway between two of the high rises. This would bring me out on a feeder street which ran between Bill Clinton and Ilaz Kodra. Once I got there I would stop and look about as if finding my bearings and see what else I could see. While the young dude’s actions were suspicious, they didn’t by themselves immediately confirm that I was under surveillance. I needed a bit more first before confirming and deciding what to do.

  Of course, as I made my way down through the walkway between the blocks of flats, my mind flashed back on the bellhop and his cell phone use after seeing and waving to me. What had seemed an innocent gesture now took on overtones of target designation. Something like “yeah, that’s him. The one I just waved to…ok, you got him. Good.” And the greeting I received from his coworker last night may have also been indicative of being spotted by someone asked to look for me specifically. This raised the question of how I’d been tagged and by whom. By the time I’d reached this interesting point I was on the sidewalk of the feeder street. It petered out to my right toward Bill Clinton which meant vehicles couldn’t get through. I turned left and ambled down the street. I paused at a street vendor when I reached Ilaz Kodra. The vendor had a nice selection of hats and I bought another cap, this one a flat woolen hat like a golf cap. Men my age often wore them here and it could help me blend as well as reduce an easy visual signature created by my lack of hair. Examining the merchandise had also given me the opportunity to surreptitiously look back up the street I’d come down. Sure enough, my buddy was there, standing under one of the many trees in the area and talking on his phone. I looked back toward Ilaz Kodra and saw a dark green BMW pull to the curb. It had tinted windows and a heavy set middle aged driver who looked at me carefully and then quickly looked away as if realizing what he was doing. Turning back and handing my selection to the vendor, I caught a glimpse of my buddy closing his phone and turning back my way. I handed over some Euros, took my change and fumbled it which let me look back toward the BMW. The rear door had opened and another leather jacketed guy had climbed out. He was looking my way as well but swiveled his gaze to take in the rest of the area and pedestrians. This guy was older, mid-forties with swept back salt and pepper hair. He wore a gray dress shirt to go with his charcoal slacks and the obligatory leather jacket. He also sported a pair of Oakleys which got him tagged as Oakleys in the mental record I was now keeping. The kid behind me, being a lot more thin and a bit narrow featured, got tagged Rat Face. There was at least one more dude in the car but it pulled slowly away heading north and I didn’t get a good look.

  Looks like I had a fan club.

  There are only a few options open when you suspect you are under mobile surveillance. The first priority is generally to confirm that suspicion. This requires a bit of time, effort and travel, all of which have to be disguised as ordinary and explainable activity consistent with whatever cover under which one is acting. This is much more complicated than it sounds, especially when you factor in the next priority which is gaining information on the opposition while denying any to them. Depending upon the tactical environment and the nature of the mission and cover, it may not be desirable to reveal an awareness of the surveillance or even show signs of environmental awareness, by which I mean acting in ways which demonstrate that one is normally in Condition Yellow, not that they are worried about greenhouse gasses. Taking drastic action such as attempting or succeeding in losing surveillance or initiating a physical confrontation are not options if the goal is to lull the opposition or retain tactical mobility. Losing them while making it seem innocent is quite hard or at least it is if they are professionals.

  Forget the movies and cheap spy thrillers. Professional surveillants generally work in teams and have excellent comms. They switch off positions to minimize visual exposure, change recognizable clothing frequently and use multiple vehicles and follow techniques. A good team is often upwards of a dozen people and four vehicles. Evading this type of surveillance is hard and doing so without seeming to do so with purpose is almost impossible. Once the target is in the box, as the frame of operators around them is called, the target is generally stuck if the surveillance personnel are trained. This is especially true if the target wishes to continue to appear unsuspecting and/or innocent. If the target doesn’t care that his or her awareness is known and they are willing to take evasive countermeasures, then surveillance can be lost but the cost is a ratcheting up of awareness, the possible loss of status for cover and a potential escalation of action on the part of the opposition. All of this has to be considered in regards to the mission agenda, the tactical environment, the need for deniability, the likely nature of the o
pposition reaction to countermeasures and the support options available.

  Of course, I qualified all the above by using the caveat “professionals”. If they are not pros, the options expand considerably. And the clumsy way these guys had closed on me made me suspect that they were not true pros, had limited resources and were not anticipating any action on my part. This meant I had more options if I could confirm my theory. The danger was that they might not be surveillance at all but a direct action team simply looking for the most convenient location in which to act. And that would make my task of losing them without appearing to notice them much more difficult since I’d have to evaluate my actions and the terrain in terms not only of surveillance sightlines and options but with an eye toward limiting their direct action options as well. I needed crowds, distance between us and rapid terrain changes. But first I needed to pass on the info I already had to InSol. Once it was on the way I could take steps to dry clean myself and maybe make it to the meet this afternoon on time.

  OK. I took a couple of deep breaths to slow the surge of adrenaline. There was an internet café just up the street and I headed there without another glance toward my two new BFFs. The internet café was not crowded and finding a computer with some visual privacy and a clear view of the entrance was easy. After doing the usual drill with the thumb drive, I attached my encrypted report to an email to Steve. I also added in plain text that I had a fan club, most likely based on my performances lately and I’d be taking steps to reduce my profile. Steve would get my drift and if something happened to me that info would be helpful in assessing the best course of action. While I was busy typing away, I noticed Rat Face stop on the street outside and look carefully at the flyers posted in the front window. Of course this also let him peer in and spot me in the back after which he wandered out of sight.

  Cool. I didn’t want to anyone to get anxious and come inside.

  In addition to sending my message I’d been racking my brain to come up with a suitable location in which to lose my new fans. This was one of the reasons I’d spent the first day in country just seeing the city. I needed to know where I could go to conduct different activities. And whenever possible it’s a good idea to use the natural terrain against your enemy. I thought I knew a way to do that, provided my local support was up to it. I made a quick call to Naim while ducking down low so anyone looking in the window wouldn’t be able to tell I was using a cell phone. A short while later I hung up with a slightly better feel for the future. If things went according to plan I’d lose these guys and not arouse suspicion that it had happened due to anything other than bad luck.

  I continued mulling over my plan as I wasted time surfing the web and waiting for the text from Naim saying he was set. Once I got it, I replied that I was en route, wiped the browser, paid for my time and headed back out. I made sure to glance each way first through the large front window. Rat Face was lounging at a kiosk on my right, Oakleys was being inconspicuous with a cigarette several doors down to my left. It didn’t have the look or feel of an ambush but I was keyed and ready to go as I pushed out the door and turned toward Oakleys. There was a taxi stand just past him which I needed to get to. His head turned slightly as I came out but then he turned away, drawing on his smoke. I walked past him, the back of my neck starting to tighten which wasn’t good as it meant my posture would be slightly stiff and adrenalized. Anyone good could pick it up. I consciously forced myself to relax and turned as if thinking about crossing the road. Rat Face remained in place and Oakleys had turned to look in a shop window so there was no action planned immediately. Good. Now to do my Pied Piper bit and lead them on a happy little excursion.

  The taxi I picked had a young kid driving. I say kid as anyone below thirty and even a few over qualify to me. This guy was a twenty something hipster with a scraggly goatee, Ray Ban shades, a pork pie on his head and high decibel gangsta rap on his radio. I couldn’t resist giving him a fist bump and “what up my brother” which, coming from a middle aged white guy, threw him off stride quite a bit. He started driving away before asking me where I wanted to go and then when he did he tried French before English. My French isn’t great and my accent is atrocious but I went with French since his was worse. I figured at the least if he was questioned by whoever had sponsored my fan club he’d mention we spoke in French which would either add confusion to their data or support my cover as a Canadian journalist. I asked him to take me to Police Station Three. This meant we’d be on the main roads and the point where I exited would be close to a police station thus reducing the risk of direct action happening there. I kept a watch on the traffic around us, mostly by gawking like a tourist which was reasonable behavior for my current cover. The green BMW was parked at the entrance to the parking lot for the housing estate as we drove past heading north. Both Rat Face and Oakleys were visible hustling to get inside before the driver powered out into traffic as we reached the next intersection.

  I didn’t notice any other vehicles reacting to our movement or any other suspicious activity by pedestrians. Once it got within a four or five car length distance behind us, the green BMW settled down and kept pace. I took care not to let the silhouette of my head indicate my interest in what was behind us. For this purpose I used a half turn and view out the side windows, craning my neck as if looking up toward the upper floors of the new buildings and thus being able to catch a glance which showed the BMW and other following traffic. In any case I wasn’t too worried about them, it was whoever else might be part of the surveillance effort and who I had not yet identified that concerned me. The next part of my counter measures ought to sort both out nicely. I texted Naim, keeping my phone below the window line and my head upright so as to not give a visual indication of what I was doing. I didn’t want them to see me communicating and put two and two together after the fact. A minute later we were on the E 80, winding up the long hill heading from the middle of the city toward Station Three. I spotted Naim sitting in his car at a side street. He gave no notice of seeing me and I waited for what I knew would be coming soon.

  There was a sudden blare of horns behind us followed by the sound of vehicles colliding. I turned and looked back as would be natural and saw the BMW up on the curb with an old battered Lada Niva stopped beside it. The Niva’s driver was an old guy with a flat cap like the one in my pocket. The old guy had exited his vehicle and was yelling at the BMW driver while gesturing at his broken headlight. The Niva hadn’t suffered badly but the BMW had a crumpled front fender which looked to be pressing against the tire and it was stuck for the time being. A rapid argument was ensuing with the usual crowd gathering. Since the police station was just up the road I expected uniformed police would be there quickly and that would also prevent the BMW occupants from following. Traffic was stopped both ways as vehicles coming uphill were stuck behind the crash and those going down had stopped to watch the show. Rat Face was out and hurrying up the street but got grabbed by several onlookers who apparently thought he was trying to escape the growing confrontation. He shook them off but was still engaged when we turned the last corner, cresting the hill and losing sight of them.

  I told the driver to stop, tossed the fare plus a small tip to him and hopped out. I needed to be out of sight as quickly as possible and before the BMW’s occupants could bluster or threaten their way clear. I turned into a narrow side street, more of an alley, between a pharmacy and a multi-story building with empty shop spaces on the bottom floor. Ducking down the alley I hustled to the connecting street and turned left. I walked down this one slowly, glanced back when I reached the next intersection and turned right. This lead me deeper into a neighborhood of narrow potholed streets formed in the space between the high walls around each house, the contiguous walls creating a tight canyon like atmosphere which made the streets difficult to navigate at speed in a car. I pulled out my phone, called Naim and confirmed that, once he cleared the traffic jam, he would turn at the same alley I’d entered. He advised that none of the BMW’s occu
pants had made it away from the scene yet. I told him where I was heading and he arrived a few minutes later after driving the same route and seeing no one on foot or in a vehicle. That meant I was now clean as I hopped into his Mercedes and donned my new hat. This I pulled down low so it wasn’t apparent that my head was shaved. It was enough difference to provide visual cover as we worked our way out of the rats nest of side streets and alleys and back onto the main road into the city center.

  “Thanks man,” I offered as we turned back downhill. “Who was the old guy?”

  “My uncle. He has a garage and that old Lada has been sitting there for years. It runs but it’s not pretty and won’t matter if it’s dinged. Plus you’re paying him five hundred bucks for the time and effort. And since he’s an old man I figured people would rally around and keep things from getting out of hand until the cops arrived. Then it would be he said, she said and probably both parties would just drive away after refusing to do a report. Ska problem.”

  “No problem indeed,” I replied. “I’ll give you his money later tonight if you can meet then. I need to be dropped off at the city park near Station Two. Meet me back there at the top of the park tonight around nine.”

  Naim’s ad libs to my plan were perfect as they utilized the cultural respect paid to old people, something even the mafia guys would be hard pressed to ignore without drawing more attention than they would find acceptable. And traffic crashes happened quite frequently so there would be no reason to connect the crash with me, especially when the other driver turned out to be a local with no connections to international organizations. It’s always good to work with pros and Naim was certainly that. I’d asked for a follow and mobile pick up after I dropped out on foot. I’d also asked for the crash as it was a good way to both immobilize the BMW and possibly flush out any other surveillance. There might have been others in my fan club that I hadn’t seen but they hadn’t made themselves conspicuous by trying to force their way around the traffic jam. They also hadn’t followed me into the neighborhood which meant that, whether they existed or not, I was free and clear. I was also rather early for the meet but I would use the time to take a circuitous route through back streets to the apartment block. I needed to stay off the main roads and out of sight as much as possible as the opposition would now have only three options. The first was to give up, something I immediately discounted. The next was to send people to look for me along the main roads and in high traffic pedestrian areas. This would depend on their manpower resources. Finally, they would certainly deploy someone to sit on the one place they could count on reacquiring me, the Grand Hotel. I’d burn that bridge when I got to it but for now my priority was to remain off their radar, make the meet and move the mission into the mid-game.

  Naim dropped me at the bottom of the park, which let me walk through to the top where I stopped under some trees and surveyed the area. No one was paying me any mind nor acting unusual. I took a few minutes to plot my route to the apartment. I also took the time to reflect on the surveillance. There were several things to be learnt from what had happened. The first was that someone had the resources and time to contact hotel staff and provide my description and a contact number to be used if I was seen. I doubted very much if the bellhops at the Grand were the only ones contacted. The odds of picking the one place where I was staying out of the dozen or more available made this a non-starter. Most likely the opposition had gone to each of the hotels where foreigners would be likely to stay and had offered a reward to whoever spotted me. This wouldn’t be hard or likely to meet resistance. Of course, I could have been staying at a private residence, an Embassy or some other location but this was simply a logical move I would make in their shoes. This left the question of who was behind the surveillance and how they had my description. If the bellhop had in fact been signaling my presence and departure as the one last night had presumably done for my arrival thus giving them a place on which to set up, then he had to have some minimal description of me. That would not have come from much other than direct observation. Which meant that someone with whom I’d interacted in the past few days was either under surveillance or was providing information to the folks who mounted the surveillance. This could be unwittingly or with intent but either way I was compromised somewhere in the past few days.

  I was also betting that the surveillance was by the Serbian Mafia. Despite its name, these guys were almost exclusively Albanian inside the ethnic Albanian areas of Kosovo. The top bosses were Serbian and lived outside with some ethnic Serbs inside Kosovo to represent their interests. But crime knows few ethnic loyalties and there had been considerable cooperation between Albanian criminals and more connected Serbian groups since before the war. The war and its aftermath had provided opportunities for consolidation which left several branches of what was termed the Serbian Mafia as the top dogs. They had a lot of Albanian members and the guys I’d seen today looked and acted to type. The possibility existed that whoever had become interested in me had already been surveilling the mafia and its associates and I’d stumbled into the frame. Not very likely given the appearance and behavior of my buddies today. Anyone good enough to have made me at my meets thus far and remained unsighted would most likely also be able to mount a more effective mobile surveillance, unless they were seriously strapped for manpower and today’s clowns were all they could get on short notice. It was still a possibility and one I’d continue to factor into my calculations but for now my operating assumption was that the opposition was in fact the target organization.

  This still didn’t explain how they got onto me but I was sure that the bellhops were part of the plan. I’d use that to spread a little disinformation when I returned, something to hopefully maintain my cover. In the meantime I needed to check out the new meet site, clear it and then enter to wait for Aferdita. It wasn’t getting done while I stood and pondered so I put the surveillance sponsor question aside and began my SDR en route to the apartment a mile or so away.