by Thomas Ryan
‘I’ll reserve my answer to that. Isn’t this your driver coming?’
Jeff’s head swivelled to see Sulla walk into the courtyard. He signalled the waitress for a coffee then sat on the bench next to Jeff. Sulla’s attention centred on Morgan. ‘Ms Delaney. Hullo.’
For a split second Jeff suspected Morgan might storm off and leave him to it. With gratitude he noted instead that Sulla had become the recipient of a smile. A smile that may have bordered more on the long-suffering than the affable, but Jeff took it as a good sign.
‘Hullo, Sulla.’ Morgan directed her attention back at Jeff. ‘Why don’t you tell Sulla what you’ve just told me?’
Jeff puzzled at Morgan’s solicitous attitude on behalf of Sulla. Then, for once in his life, the machinations of the feminine mind became clear to him. Morgan had one over Sulla by virtue of what Jeff had just told her regarding Caldwell. By guiding Jeff to impart that knowledge to the man she’d hitherto viewed as instrumental in excluding her from Jeff’s affairs, the score had evened: fifteen–all. And Morgan held serve. Jeff breathed a prayer of thanks. A concord between these two might not be a bad thing if he intended staying around.
After hearing the details of Jeff’s meeting with Caldwell, Sulla rotated his neck. ‘I am stiff. Too much sitting in cars. But I too have been thinking there is something else going on.’
‘You have? How’s that?’
‘Nobody just dies in a Kosovon prison. Not the way Arben did. It makes no sense.’
‘This is Kosovo.’
Sulla grimaced. ‘Yes. Maybe it did happen the way they said. But Arben was not a violent criminal or a drug addict. And he had only been in Kosovo a few weeks, not long enough to make enemies. And now this American appears.’ Sulla tapped Caldwell’s business card lying on the table. ‘Maybe CIA. And this man tells you he has been watching Arben. Why? Because someone is stealing his vineyard?’ Sulla shook his head. ‘I do not believe this. It must be about something a lot bigger.’
Jeff noticed the look of intrigue on Morgan’s face. ‘Sulla has something there, Jeff. Our records show there are hundreds of properties in dispute. Put them all together and the value runs into millions.’
‘For millions of dollars I myself would kill the entire population of Kosovo,’ Sulla said with a grumble of a laugh. ‘But it does not make sense to kill Arben. He is the duck who lays an egg of gold. No?’
A sparkle of amusement in Morgan’s eye. ‘Goose, Sulla. And it’s a she-goose too. Men aren’t that damn useful. But I agree.’
Thirty–fifteen, Jeff thought. Morgan was clearly de-icing as far as Sulla was concerned.
‘Duck, goose, whatever. Arben’s murder might have happened this way if he was in a big prison like Dubrave. But in the detention centre so closely monitored by the UN? No. I think it more likely someone ordered him killed.’
Jeff’s eyes widened and turned to Morgan.
Two slow nods, her hair now burning like a flame in the morning sun.
‘It adds up, Jeff.’
‘Okay. Then why? Arben would be useless dead to anyone who still wanted his land despite the Xhihas’ phony papers. Why kill him?’
Sulla’s fingernail scratched at a coffee ring on the table. ‘I hate to say what I am thinking.’
Jeff shot a sharp look at him. ‘What? Come on Sulla. Say it.’
‘He was your friend, Jeff. It’s not good for me to think this.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Sulla. If you don’t tell me, I’ll wring that thick Albanian neck of yours.’
Eyes of surprise met Jeff’s. ‘All right. I think Arben was killed because of you.’
Jeff recoiled. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Please listen. His arrest over the mobile phone was rubbish. It would never have held up in court. Yet he was kept first in jail. That part I can understand. Someone with power uses the law as leverage to convince him to stop contesting ownership of the vineyard. Then he is released. Maybe whoever is behind this wanted Arben to make an extra payment and his release was so he could arrange the money. I only say this because the documents could have been signed over in the jail. Anyway, when he is released, what does Arben do? He phones you, Jeff, and then he tries to run. The police grab him near the border. Not the border guards. The police. I can only think this was because there are internationals at the border control and the police who took him did not want them asking awkward questions.’
‘Corrupt cops?’
‘Yes, Jeff. Has to be so.’
‘But what does any of that have to do with me? Personally?’
‘Whoever is behind this scam did not expect anyone would come looking for Arben. Certainly not anyone from New Zealand. I think that maybe they thought if they squeezed Arben a little harder, scared him more, eventually he would do what they wanted. Then they would let him go. There was no reason to kill him. He can do nothing to defy them. Killing him would only make unnecessary trouble, maybe enough to get the UN police involved. No, they would take his land, take his money, he would go back to New Zealand and that would be the end of it. Then you show up looking for him, asking many questions. Already you have involved the international police. They found him for you. And the night before you are to see him, he is killed.’ Sulla shrugged. ‘It is too convenient to be coincidence.’
Jeff’s frown lines had become ploughed furrows. His eyes remained locked with Sulla’s. ‘Are you telling me someone murdered Arben because of something he might have told me?’
A nod of affirmation.
The sudden reluctance of his lungs to replenish his air supply had Jeff gripping the edge of the table. The breathlessness departed as rapidly as it had come. But not the guilt.
Morgan’s head tilted in query. ‘You okay, Jeff?’
‘It’s okay. I’m just . . . I’m shocked, that’s all.’
The words appeared to satisfy Morgan, but her gaze remained on Jeff nonetheless. ‘Well. Sulla’s just put a theory out there for us to consider. Suggestions of blame or culpability have no place in it. What should interest us more is how it explains the role of this American. Caldwell.’
An exhalation whistled from Sulla’s nostrils. ‘It is obvious Caldwell did not tell Jeff what is going on because if he is CIA then whatever it is will have international connections. Very serious stuff. And serious enough to get Arben killed. It can be the only reason.’
Jeff found a new focus in the fuzzy lenses he’d been operating with. If Benny’s death had been premeditated, a conspiracy, there were culprits out there. That meant he had a mission.
‘Then, my friends, I intend to discover two things. What is it that Caldwell knows? And what information was so important that the life of a good man had to be sacrificed to ensure I never got it?’ Jeff eyed Sulla. ‘Will you drive me to Skopje?’
Something close to a look of indignation crossed Morgan’s face. ‘Us, Jeff. Will Sulla take us? I’m as involved in wanting to get to the bottom of all this as you are. If this Caldwell has answers about land disputes on a wider scale than has appeared to be the case so far, then it’s my job to know what they are.’
Sulla looked to Jeff for some kind of guidance. Jeff resisted the urge to roll his eyes. But his hands did rise in surrender. ‘Okay then. Us it is.’
‘Very well. I shall drive you both. Let us pay your American agent a visit. Meet me in front of the hotel tomorrow morning at ten thirty. Bring money. Euros.’
30.
At midday the following day Sulla turned off the highway just before the Telecom building and circled Skopje’s central business district. They came in behind a shopping mall. The Holiday Inn looked to be more or less annexed onto the end of the complex overlooking the Vardar River. However, the entrance lobby where they had arranged to meet with Caldwell faced away to the city.
It was Caldwell who first spotted Jeff. He approached with hand extended. ‘I’ve b
een expecting you.’
‘Really?’ Jeff responded with feigned surprise. ‘Meet two friends of mine. Morgan Delaney, a countrywoman of yours, and Sulla Bogdani.’
Caldwell pointed towards the river. ‘The Irish pub isn’t far. They make good coffee, and the lunch menu is edible. We can talk there.’
He guided them around the sidewalk to the riverside boulevard. An outside table bathed in sun took his fancy. He indicated the group should sit there and signalled for coffees.
Tables in front of the cafes running the entire length of the boulevard were fully occupied, as were the wooden benches dotted along the riverbank. A few hundred metres away a solid stone bridge spanned the river. Caldwell pointed to it. ‘It’s called the Stony Bridge. Apt, don’t you think? Across there is old Skopje. Tourists flock to the place. And that crumbling mass on the hill is called Kale Fortress.’
Jeff had a fascination for ancient structures, especially forts. He felt a twinge of regret that the timing was all wrong for a closer look.
Caldwell sat back and surveyed his little party. ‘Now. How can I help you people?’
‘Well, as much as I appreciate the travelogue I haven’t come to sightsee. I’ve come for answers. My friend Sulla here is of the opinion that Arben Shala wasn’t killed in some insignificant prison brawl. He’s convinced me that someone wanted him dead. And I have a pretty good suspicion you know who. And why.’
‘I see.’
‘And I’m a little pissed that you made it your business to know where Arben was, knew he was innocent, yet didn’t lift a finger to help him.’
Without expression, Caldwell met Jeff’s stare for a long moment. Then he nodded. ‘Okay. I admit he was being watched, but I really didn’t think he was in any particular danger. He should have been about as safe in the detention centre as he would have been in his hotel. His death took me by surprise as much as it did you.’
Nothing in Caldwell’s face told Jeff whether he should believe Caldwell or not.
Jeff leaned back in his chair. ‘But it still puzzles me why he wasn’t out on bail. His lawyer is supposedly one of Kosovo’s best. Someone of that ilk should have had little trouble arranging something so simple.’
‘That’s easy. Arben hired Mema to check over his property, then disappeared. Until I hired him, Mema had no idea Arben was in prison and he couldn’t have done anything about it anyway until after the weekend. By then it was too late.’
The smile on Caldwell’s face struck Jeff as something closer to a smirk. ‘Really, Mr Bradley? My information has Tomi Mema visiting with Mr Shala on any number of occasions while he was in jail. And he was most certainly with him at all his court appearances. He knew exactly where his client was.’
A slap in the face could not have shaken Jeff more. He exchanged glances with the wide eyes of Morgan then turned on Caldwell. ‘Bullshit. That’s not what Mema told me.’
‘Well, one of us is lying. Your call. No pressure.’
Jeff looked away and grasped the handle of his coffee cup. But his hand flexed so hard he feared he might break it. He heard an intake of breath from Morgan as if she was about to say something. But Sulla dropped a hand onto hers with a brief shake of the head. The two of them remained silent watching Jeff.
‘Right now, Caldwell, I’m really pissed off. And I’m very sick of being jerked around. So. If you’re not lying to me, why don’t you stop playing fucking games and tell me why any of this is of interest to you?’
Caldwell leaned forward. ‘I’ve been following a terrorist money trail. That’s what brings me to Kosovo. It led me to the name of a local hood. This man’s into prostitution, smuggling cigarettes, gambling, even dogfights. But he just didn’t come across as having the capabilities to mastermind a terrorist network. But he was the only lead I had. That’s when Ms Delaney came to our attention.’
Morgan’s mouth dropped open. ‘What on earth am I supposed to have done?’
‘Don’t worry, Ms Delaney. You’re not under investigation. If anything at all, I owe you a vote of thanks.’
‘And how’s that, for God’s sake?’
‘An alert court-clerk noted your USAID report on the property disputes and your suspicions that an organised crime ring might be behind it. It was referred to various departments and eventually filtered down to me. We followed our suspect to a vineyard owned by two brothers where he picked up several cases of wine. Ordinarily that wouldn’t have raised any flags at all. But after I’d read your report, I had one of my men talk to the farm manager. He told us about the dispute with Mr Shala. By the time we’d tracked down Shala, he was already up to his neck in a world of shit. But I saw in him the latest scam victim.’
Jeff couldn’t stop himself from pointing an accusing finger at Caldwell. ‘And you just left him there, dangling, like bait?’
‘Mr Bradley. Please. You should be familiar enough with my line of work to know it’s sometimes necessary to risk losing a minnow to catch a shark.’ Caldwell’s eyes flashed at Sulla in a way that Jeff thought unfriendly, if not outright hostile. ‘That shark turned out to be a small-time hood called Osman Gashi. But he wasn’t the end of the trail. His nickel-and-dime operations couldn’t produce the huge amounts of dirty money flowing in and out of Kosovo like it’s the frigging Danube. It was evident that Gashi was moving money for someone else. We were hoping either he or someone connected to Shala might lead us to whoever that someone else is.’
Caldwell’s eyes remained fixed on Sulla. Again Jeff noticed the underlying hostility in the look. What the hell was that all about?
‘I know this man Gashi,’ Sulla said. ‘He is very bad. Not so small time.’ His face turned with a hard look to Caldwell as if the American had offered him an insult. ‘Gashi runs a big gang. Like the Mafia from Italy. If this man is involved then he could have ordered the killing of Arben.’
Caldwell shrugged. ‘Have that as you like. The only connection we got from having Shala under surveillance was Mema.’
Jeff’s eyebrows rose. ‘Tomi Mema’s involved in the scam?’
‘I can’t say for certain. But it’s likely.’
Jeff’s fingers drummed the table top while he thought. ‘Okay then. I know enough about your line of work to know you never suspected me of being a mercenary for hire. So why did you really come to see me in Prishtina?’
‘Simple enough. Mr Shala was attracting all sorts of attention out of proportion to a small-time scam. First, there was Gashi. Then you show up looking for Shala. Asking a lot of questions. Making waves. Barging into offices, bothering people who don’t like being bothered. I certainly didn’t need some ignorant businessman screwing up my operations. So I checked you out and discovered you were not the bumbling wine salesman you pretended to be but a former Special Forces man. Then you take more than a casual interest in a property with ties to a criminal gang. As strange as it might seem, Mr Bradley, even New Zealand harbours its share of criminals, mercenaries and terrorists.’
Jeff snorted. ‘What? First you accuse me of being a mercenary. Now I’m a terrorist?’
‘Look. You can’t blame me for wondering, especially considering the company you keep.’
‘The company I keep? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?’
Caldwell pulled a file from his briefcase and placed it on the table. Jeff’s eyes lit up with shock when he read the name scrawled across the top in bold black letters.
So did Sulla’s. ‘Why do you have a file on me?’
Caldwell flipped open the folder, turned it with both hands and pushed it across the table towards Sulla. ‘Why indeed. Tell me about these explosives, Mr Bogdani. Explosives used in a bombing in Belgium and in Slovenia. You may not be a bomber, but you’ve supplied one. I’d be interested in knowing where you got this stuff and who you sold it to.’
Jeff saw alarm in the eyes Morgan directed at him. His own alarm was
not lessened at the sight of colour draining from Sulla’s face.
Sulla turned to Jeff, whites of eyes stark beneath dark brows. ‘This is bullshit.’
Caldwell extended a hand to land a sharp rap on the table in front of Jeff. ‘I see you didn’t realise you were associating with a man with ties to KLA terrorists? The Kosovo Liberation Army, I could accept. After all, they were just freedom fighters. Kosovon Albanians fighting the Serbs to found an independent Kosovo. But that’s not what happened here, is it?’
Jeff’s head snapped in Sulla’s direction. ‘Is this true, Sulla? Is it
‘I have done nothing wrong. You must believe me.’
‘He wouldn’t tell you himself, Mr Bradley. So I will. Your Mr Bogdani spent two years in prison.’
The look on Sulla’s face showed Jeff a mixture of indignation and rage.
‘It is not true. Not . . .’
‘Not true? You didn’t spend two years in prison for possession of explosives?’
‘Yes. I was in prison, Jeff. But it is not how this man is saying. I am no terrorist.’ Sulla pointed a shaking finger at Caldwell. ‘The explosives I had were old, left behind by the Serbs and turned over to NATO. The CIA knows this. I was never charged with terrorism.’
Caldwell nodded as if he were seriously considering this information. ‘I do, Mr Bogdani. There’s just one problem with that, isn’t there? The explosives handed into NATO were not old. They hadn’t been underground for years, and they were certainly not of a type used by the Serbian Forces.’
Sulla’s hand dropped back to the table. He sat back and stared at Caldwell. ‘This cannot be true. There must be some mistake. I am not lying. The explosives were from an abandoned Serbian stockpile. I have never sold them to anyone. On my honour, I am innocent of that. I swear it.’
Caldwell’s head wagged from side to side. ‘If I had a dime for every criminal that ever said that to a cop I’d be a rich man. It’s all on tape, Bogdani. A BBC docu-drama made in Kosovo had footage that clearly showed an ex-KLA operative, namely you’ – Caldwell jabbed a finger in Sulla’s direction – ‘supplying explosives to someone in the film crew posing as a buyer. The handover of those explosives to NATO was also on film. NATO tested those explosives before destroying them.’ He reached to the file and held up a sheet of paper. ‘This is a copy of the analysis.’ The paper went into Sulla’s hands. Caldwell spread some time-stamped video stills across the table. Again he pointed. ‘Do you deny this is you?’
