Indicted

by Tom Saric

Braun punched in the key code, the safe buzzed, and the door opened. He pulled out a stack of manila folders and spread them out over the floor. He opened each one, leafing through page after page of printouts.

  “It’s all there,” Tomislav said while staring past the gun at Luka. “All of the financial statements. A few contracts. A few transcripts.” He shrugged. “I’d prepared it all for them already.”

  “For Vance?” Braun said.

  “Yes, of course. As a good solicitor, I keep all my clients’ records.” He winked at Luka. “They wanted to meet me this evening so I could turn it all over. In one hour, we were to meet at Jarun, across town. Looks like I’ll have to cancel.”

  Braun flipped through the files quickly, scanning from one pile to the next.

  “These are all numbered accounts,” Braun said. “Many of them have also been closed. There wouldn’t be a record of ownership at the banks.”

  Tomislav stared at Luka and smiled. He rubbed his throat and adjusted his collar.

  “Is it all there, Robert?” Luka said, his voice shaking.

  “It is. But it’s not intelligible. Not interpretable. It would take years of investigating, warrants—” He walked towards Tomislav. “You made it this way.”

  Tomislav shrugged. “I’m just a lawyer.”

  “But I could interpret, if you needed,” he added, pursing his lips. “You’d need me alive, though. And I’d need some form of protection in exchange for my…” He stood up, walked up to the gun, and held the muzzle to his forehead. “Immunity.”

  The grip felt heavy and hot in Luka’s hands. He adjusted his grip and tried to pull the gun back, but Tomislav only jerked it harder against his skull.

  “Or do you want revenge more, Luka?” Tomislav said, eyes wide. “It would make you feel better, wouldn’t it?”

  In his mind’s eye, Luka's finger wrapped around the trigger tightly, sending the bullet into Tomislav’s head. This man had done it all.

  “Come on, Luka. Do it.”

  Luka thrust the gun forward, knocking Tomislav to his knees, then held the gun to his forehead.

  “We need him, Luka,” Braun said steadily.

  All those girls. All those families he tore apart. He could rid the world of this man.

  “I don’t see a way we could make a case against the other men,” Braun said, putting a hand on Luka’s shoulder.

  Luka imagined the blood. The hollow thump as Tomislav’s lifeless body collapsed to the floor.

  Braun studied Luka’s face. “If you want to live in peace, without constantly looking over your shoulder, we need him.”

  Luka’s hand dropped to his side and the gun slapped against his thigh. His throat was dry. He looked away from Tomislav, who would slip away from justice again. He knew it.

  “I will talk to the prosecutor about immunity for your testimony,” Braun said. “But first, you are going to your meeting with Vance tonight.”

  Luka looked out the window. The sky had darkened, and a blue-grey hue was descending over the room. Only a thin, neon orange band of light flickered off the back wall from the setting sun. He glanced at the clock. It would take a minimum of forty-five minutes to get to Jarun for Tomislav’s meeting with Vance, and that was if they made all the green lights on the way. Luka shoved the gun into his belt and turned to help Braun collect the papers. Tomislav kneeled beside the desk, staring at the window, the sky now blackening.

  Bang!

  Luka reflexively ducked. Blood splattered from the side of Tomislav’s head. His body tipped over and he collapsed onto the floor.

  A second shot rang out and Braun rolled over, clutching his shoulder.

  Luka looked up. Bart Vance stood in the doorway, wearing black combats and pointing a gun at him.

  49

  Luka crawled around and hid behind the desk. He pulled the gun from his belt. Boots thumped against the wood floors, then stopped. He heard Braun groaning.

  “You have a real knack for getting in the way, don’t you?” Vance said. “I came here to get the documents from Rukavina, close that loop, and here you are. Fucking it all up again. And now my hands are dirty.”

  Luka crouched against the desk. Vance was a Navy SEAL, and he’d just picked Tomislav off from fifteen yards away. His voice was calm, only a hint of anger behind it. So cool, so detached that it made Luka’s hands shake.

  “You can get up, Luka,” Vance said. “You’re not the one I want.”

  Luka didn’t move initially, digesting the words. If Vance wanted him dead, he’d be lying next to Tomislav by now, he told himself. He felt powerless. Vance had surprised him, gone on the offensive when Luka thought they were going to get the drop on him.

  Luka rose slowly. Vance stood in front of a kneeling Braun, the gun pointed at his head. His all-black outfit nearly blurred him into the background of the darkening room. The strip of dusk light illuminated half of his face.

  “Nothing personal, Robert,” Vance said, maintaining eye contact with Luka. “I hope you realize that. Just protecting my interests, you know?”

  “I’d expect nothing less from you,” Braun said, wincing from the pain in his shoulder.

  Vance laughed. Luka pointed his gun at him.

  “It’s all shit, isn’t it?” Vance spoke to the sky. “I kill Robert and then I go on my merry way, make a bonfire with all these papers. Luka, you are already discredited. A murderer committing another murder, they’ll say.”

  He turned dramatically, extending both of his hands. So confident, Luka thought, so in charge. “I’ll tell you what. You do what you do best, Luka. Hide. For good. Never come back. You still get your family.”

  Could he? Take Sara and Natalie and start somewhere new? A new home, a new name, the old lies erased and replaced by new ones. He squeezed the grip of the gun. He wanted to live free of deception, of the gut-gnawing guilt, but he wanted Natalie and Sara too.

  “And Robert?”

  His voice cracked as he said Braun’s name.

  “There are casualties. Your dear Robert has dug a little too deep. He’s too idealistic to be trusted.”

  “Luka, go,” Braun said. Luka avoided his eyes.

  “It’s the smart choice, Luka,” Vance said. “You’ll have some freedom. When they find Robert and Rukavina here, there will be no witnesses. I was never here. They might accuse you, but you’ll be in hiding.”

  “Luka Pavić Wanted in Murder of Hague Investigator,” the headline would read. Another photo of him in the paper. The article would detail the shot to the head that caused Tomislav’s death. And Robert Braun's death by whatever method Vance was contemplating.

  “Luka, go. It’s your only chance,” Braun said.

  Luka glanced at the stack of papers on the floor. Inside was proof that Vance was involved in Nisko. Perhaps other things too. The ribbon of sunlight now illuminated Braun and was gradually moving towards Vance.

  Luka turned to Vance. “Before I go, I need to know: why?”

  “Why what? NightHawk? It was a project. We were growing and we were operating in Yugoslavia. You know what a clusterfuck that war was, Luka. We couldn’t separate the criminals from the saints down there. So we had contracts, millions of dollars’ worth. Providing security for our clients, that’s all. We didn’t know who we were protecting.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “More or less.”

  “What about Nisko?”

  Vance nodded and looked into the distance, his face troubled. “We had to make some tough decisions. When we learned about who we were protecting, we had to get out.”

  “And murder those investigating you? Like Saša Tadić?” The light was over Vance’s ear now, slowly migrating across his face. Luka could see him clearly.

  “I regret that. I lie awake every night thinking about them. But overall, we were helping out. To let these men suggest that we were trafficking women would undo all the good we were doing.”

  “Sweep it under the rug, then? Send an assassin after me?”r />
  “Collateral damage. Imagine if you got on the stand and said you were innocent. What then? An investigation, no doubt. And then all of the work I’ve done as a senator gets undone. I’m thrown under the bus. It was fucking war, Luka, you know that. There are casualties. It’s not what you do; it’s what you do next. And we’re righting the wrongs.”

  “By manipulating the proceedings at The Hague?”

  “We’re there to show support. Almost all of the accused are guilty, and we want to make sure they’re brought to justice.”

  The line of sunlight crossed Vance's eye, and he squinted. Luka pulled the trigger. Blood spurted out of Vance’s neck and he twisted backwards, but turned immediately and fired two shots at Luka that went whistling past his shoulder. Luka crouched behind the desk and fired two more shots that thudded squarely into Vance’s chest, driving him backwards but not killing him. Vance was wearing body armor.

  The senator lifted his hand to fire, and Luka squeezed the trigger one more time.

  Vance’s head jerked, and his lifeless body collapsed to the floor beside Tomislav. His gun clattered away.

  Luka stood and walked over to Vance, gun pointed. His chin was missing. Blood poured out of his neck, flowing along the hardwood floors.

  He turned as Braun stood up, clutching his shoulder. “Give me the gun,” Braun said, holding out his free hand.

  “You don’t need your fingerprints on this, Robert.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Luka passed the gun to Braun, who wiped it down with his shirt. He stepped in front of Luka and fired two more shots into Vance. Then, Braun spoke without turning his back.

  “In the glove box of the car are your tickets and new passport. You need to get yourself to Belgium, take the next flight out. You’ll see your family.”

  “No, Robert, they’ll accuse you of this.”

  “You were never here.”

  Luka heard Braun’s words, but his knees felt shaky and his feet were frozen to the floor.

  “I came here to follow a lead. I confronted Tomislav and obtained these documents. I heard him confess. Vance entered and shot Tomislav and then me. I had to defend myself. You were never here.”

  Running again, Luka thought. Still accused, still a pariah. But he had his family.

  “Someone will call the police, Luka. Go.”

  A new identity. A new life. He’d done it before.

  50

  The Hague

  Four Weeks Later

  Robert Braun sat in the waiting room of Nicole Allegri’s office, a roller suitcase at his feet. His flight was leaving in three hours. He tapped nervously on his briefcase.

  Eventually, a young blond man wearing round wire-rimmed glasses and a navy suit opened the door. A new assistant.

  “Mr. Braun? Ms. Allegri is ready for you.”

  Braun stood up and adjusted his jacket before walking in. Nicole sat behind the desk with a slight smile. As he approached, he heard the door close behind him. The meeting would be just the two of them.

  “It’s good to see you, Robert.”

  He didn’t respond. He’d hoped to never see Nicole again. She’d tossed him aside, gone relentlessly on with her investigation, her blinders firmly in place. But after leaving Zagreb, he agonized for several days about whether to go to the media with his story. It felt wrong. Sure, it would make waves, at least until the next big scandal broke.

  After days of letting the conflict simmer in his mind, he had decided that he’d let the system have a shot at the case. The system, imperfect as it was, was the closest thing to objectivity. So he sent the materials to Nicole for her review, accompanied by an email saying that if she was unable to act on the information, they would have to “let the public decide.”

  Unsurprisingly, within five days, he was invited for a meeting with the chief prosecutor.

  “Interesting information,” she said, patting a file folder on her desk. “Enlightening. Unfortunately, most of it is inadmissible in court. Confessions whereby the interrogator has a gun pointed at the accused, as a general rule, are not acceptable.” She held Braun’s gaze for a moment. He didn’t react in any way. “But it certainly casts doubt on our reconstruction of the events related to the Luka Pavić case. So, we are reopening the investigation.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, Nicole.” His voice remained distant. He maintained his stare. It wasn’t enough, he knew, for her to reopen the investigation. Bogdani and Pavlovski had likely already been driven further underground. Without Vance’s confession, they had no means of connecting Flaherty to obstructing the investigation.

  And where did this leave Luka? The conviction would still stand, pending the investigation.

  “I’m applying to the court to have Luka Pavić’s conviction overturned,” she continued, twitching slightly.

  “Overturned?”

  “Yes. As hard as I find it to admit, there is enough evidence and a reasonable level of doubt to indicate that Pavić wasn’t involved.”

  Braun was too stunned to speak. Nicole, of legendary stubbornness, was, in her own quiet way, eating crow. He had expected a fight, not a compromise.

  “How long will this take to overturn?” he asked, finding his voice.

  Nicole shrugged. “A month, minimum. Six months, possibly. That’s if they accept my recommendation.”

  The process went on and on, didn’t it? Braun thought.

  “Of course, he’ll have to answer for his escape from custody, perhaps indicate who his accomplices were. Though I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.”

  “As you know, I was in Zagreb,” Braun said. “What about charges against Pavlovski? Bogdani? Vance?”

  “That will depend on our investigation. They are persons of interest.”

  “They are guilty, Nicole. All of them. It was a joint criminal enterprise. Bring them in for interrogation. And indict Vance!” A fire was building inside of him.

  “Bart Vance is dead. We can’t—”

  “You can! Charge him posthumously. We need to send a message that there is no escaping justice!” Braun was furious, as much with himself as with Nicole. They’d let Vance escape, take the easy way out.

  “I can’t offer more than that. His name will likely come up as part of the investigation. But that’s it.”

  “He got away,” Braun whispered, mostly to himself.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” She gave him a sympathetic smile.

  “And Walter Flaherty?”

  “We’re trying to find him as part of the investigation.”

  “He’s on the run, then.”

  “Seems to be.”

  They sat quietly for a moment, both grieving the big fish that had, in their eyes, got away.

  Nicole broke the silence. “Robert, part of the reason you’re here is because we’re transitioning this office. We have nearly completed our work in the former Yugoslavia, this crime notwithstanding. We'll soon be starting work on war crimes in Sub-Saharan Africa. We’d be happy to have you work with us as a lead investigator.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’m looking forward to some time off.”

  “Offer is on the table if you change your mind.”

  Braun nodded, then rose and turned to leave.

  Nicole rapped her fingers against her desk. “Robert, I’m curious. Where did you send Pavić?”

  Braun stared back at her blankly. “I didn’t send him anywhere. He just slipped away.”

  51

  In Terminal 2 of Charles de Gaulle Airport, Braun met Natalia. She was carrying a duffel bag with colorful graphics over her shoulder. They sat down for a coffee—Braun had a hot water and lemon—at an Illy bar.

  “Excited?” Braun asked Natalia.

  “Very. I’ve never been overseas.” She beamed.

  “You have a busy job,” Braun said. “Not much time for vacations.”

  “I like to be busy.”

  “How are the girls? Adjusting?”

  “Well, it’s a
lways a process. But they’re safe, getting used to some freedom. I think we’ll start reconnecting them with their families soon.”

  Braun smiled. Natalia had dropped the alias Filipa. She explained that if Luka had spent over a decade wanting to find her, then she didn’t need to hide anymore. When Braun offered her a ticket to come with him, Natalia had categorically refused. She had too much work to do. But when he explained the purpose of the trip, she softened, but still insisted that she couldn’t go. It wasn’t until Dr. Forlan intervened and ordered her to take a two-week vacation that she agreed.

  Part of him wondered if he should remain behind to assist the investigation into Vance and Bogdani, but he had to let it run its course. His inability to arrest them would leave him with regret for a long time to come. But now, he had to pull back and let the machine work. He had something more important to see through to the end.

  Just after dawn on the Tahitian island of Mo’orea, a warm breeze blew off the ocean and birds sang in the trees. No rain today. Luka and Sara sat on their balcony drinking coffee from a French press while Natalie still slept in the apartment.

  The balcony overlooked a quiet street that circled the tropical island, and Luka and Sara had taken to people watching in the mornings. On this island, though, there was little traffic and few people. Time moved slowly here.

  “Are you feeling nervous?” Sara asked, touching Luka’s thigh.

  “A little, maybe.”

  “I love you.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair. The island was paradise, but Luka knew she missed Winnipeg. She missed her friends and the community. She missed her home. She even missed her father. He’d refused to come along, insisting that someone had to watch the house, clear the snow, and, once that melted, tend the lawn and garden. A little longer, Luka told her, and they’d be home.

  Their conversations often reverted back to their friends in Canada, wondering what they were doing and what sort of gossip was circulating.

  Luka was preoccupied with thoughts of the investigation, the loss of his brother, and repairing the relationships that he had damaged. Sara and Natalie forgave him, he knew, even though they never said as much. Maybe that’s what it meant to be loved.