The Field of Blackbirds (A Jeff Bradley Thriller)

by Thomas Ryan

  ‘What is it you are suggesting?’ Sulla asked.

  ‘That I go in and meet with Gashi. Make him an offer he can’t refuse, as they say in the movies.’

  ‘He will kill you. What you have got that he would want?’

  Jeff’s finger pointed at Basholli. ‘I tell him Blerim has rocket launchers. I can show him one, and that if he gives me the information I want, he will be left in peace. If he doesn’t, then you two will blow us all to bits.’

  Basholli sat looking at the floor and shaking his head. Sulla looked close to laughing right in Jeff’s face.

  ‘This is a stupid plan. He will not believe you. He will know we will not destroy his house with you in it, and he would be right. Besides, Blerim has only one rocket launcher. Lots of rockets but only the one launcher.’

  Jeff lowered his voice. ‘I don’t think we need to tell Gashi that, do we?’

  ‘I agree with Sulla. Gashi will not believe we will kill you,’ Basholli said.

  ‘I could do it,’ Sulla said. ‘He would believe you would kill me.’

  Basholli’s eyes bulged out of his head. ‘Why would he believe I kill you now when I did not in Peje?’

  ‘Brother of my wife, I will tell him that you let me live because the CIA promised to leave us both alone if I get them the information they want. If I fail, you will gladly blow me to pieces. But if he does give up the information, you and I will renounce our right to revenge and leave him in peace. This is what I will tell him.’

  Basholli held Sulla’s gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded.

  Jeff exhaled a sigh of relief. ‘Now. I have a few ideas that might help convince Gashi to be cooperative.’

  42.

  Sulla wondered if Gashi’s compound could be seen from space. Night became day in the glare of the banks of floodlights placed atop the outer wall. He kept his speed under 20 kph and his lights on full beam. He wanted Gashi’s sentries to see him coming from a long way off. Basholli and his men were already in position. Whether or not Jeff’s plan worked was now in the hands of Allah.

  As he drew closer, a small door in the corner of the massive iron gate opened. Two men armed with Kalashnikovs stepped out and waved for Sulla to stop. He pulled over and turned off the engine. This was it. There was no turning back now. He wiped sweating palms on the car seat cover, opened the door and climbed out.

  One of the two men held back and covered his comrade who stepped forward. He stopped a few metres short of Sulla. Sulla’s assessment was that these men were professionals and not at all what he had expected. Gashi must be paying big bucks.

  ‘What do you want?’ the man barked at him.

  ‘My name is Sulla Bogdani. I want to speak to Osman Gashi.’

  ‘Wait here,’ the man ordered, then disappeared inside the compound. The second guard said nothing. He kept the Kalashnikov trained at Sulla’s chest. Sulla ventured a smile. No response.

  After five minutes, the first man returned and waved Sulla into the compound.

  ‘There is something in the trunk I need you to bring. A gift for Gashi.’

  Sulla tossed his car keys to the second guard and walked away without looking back.

  As he crossed the courtyard he counted at least thirty men. He knew there’d be more inside the house. He and Basholli had badly miscalculated Gashi’s fear of retaliation. The house reminded Sulla of the Mexican haciendas he had seen in old Hollywood westerns. Small balconies jutted out above him and vines wound their way through trellises attached to walls that were painted in white, pink and orange. In the foyer an antique coat stand stood beside a black leather two-seater chair. A red-and-black Navajo rug covered most of the terracotta-tiled floor. The guard prodded him through a door and into a spacious lounge furnished in similar manner.

  Four men sat round an oak dining table drinking cognac and enjoying the warmth of a log fire. It completed the picture developing in Sulla’s head. To him, the whole place looked like a movie set. Gashi had watched too many cowboy films.

  The men by the fireplace glared at Sulla. Sulla endeavoured to keep his expression neutral.

  Osman Gashi stood with one arm draped across the top of a high-backed leather chair in front of an ornate oak desk.

  ‘Sulla Bogdani. Please, come and sit down.’

  He pointed to a second high-backed chair. It looked to Sulla like a studio setting for a one-on-one TV discussion.

  Sulla sat as directed.

  Gashi lowered himself into his chair. He clasped hands together and rested them on his oversized belly. ‘What brings you to my house at this time of night? And, I might add, uninvited.’

  ‘I want the name of a man, Gashi. The man you work for.’

  A grin flashed across Gashi’s face. It disappeared as quickly.

  ‘Firstly, I am my own boss. I work for no one. Secondly, if there was such a person as you suggest, why would I give his name to you?’

  ‘You and he stole money and property from the man named Arben Shala who you had falsely accused of a crime. You saw that he got arrested and then you had him murdered while he was in the Prishtina Detention Centre. Arben Shala was a friend of the family. Shall I just say you owe me one, Gashi?’

  Gashi shook his head with what appeared to Sulla to be a bogus look of disbelief. ‘Even if your fairy story were true, I still do not see why any of this leads me to want to help you. Kill, maybe. Help, no.’

  Sulla drew a deep breath. He was savouring the prospect of wiping the smile from Gashi’s face.

  ‘Recently I was in Macedonia, but I think you already know that.’

  Gashi did not respond.

  ‘I met with an American intelligence agent. This agent told me that explosives I gave to NATO were the same explosives used in terrorist bombings in Belgium and Slovenia. Fortunately, I was able to prove they did not come from me. It seems someone switched the explosives and left a trail of blame leading my way. The Americans believe the man who arranged the switch lives here in Kosovo. Imagine my surprise when he told me the man they suspected was Osman Gashi.’

  This time when Gashi turned on a laugh, Sulla was sure he detected a shade of anxiety in it. The eyes had become more mobile too.

  ‘Keep talking. This could be amusing.’

  ‘Tomi Mema, Gashi. Killing him was not so clever. And trying to pin it on the Serbs? It may have fooled the average Kosovon, but not me. And not the CIA.’

  A tightening of Gashi’s mouth. Sulla knew he had struck home. Gashi wiped his brow. Sulla doubted that the heating alone in the room was causing beads of sweat to run down the fat man’s neck.

  ‘Then yesterday you went a step too far. Machine-gunning the apartment and nearly killing my friends. It has to stop.’

  Gashi leaned forward, all pretence of cordiality gone. ‘You come here uninvited. You accuse me of murder. You sit in front of me and insult me in my own home. I should kill you now and be done with it.’

  A nod from Gashi now would see Sulla dead and he knew it. That it hadn’t happened already meant Jeff was right.

  ‘Fortunately for you, Gashi, I was able to convince the agent that you lacked the wit to organise such an operation. They believed this. And that someone else gave the orders. That is the name I want. They want. Give it to me and I will allow you to live through this night.’

  A roar of laughter came out of Gashi. Men at the oak table sniggered in support. ‘You have big balls, Sulla. I give you that. Tomi Mema was a fool. You should not waste any sympathy on him. And as for this boss you say I work for, I repeat – I work for no man.’

  ‘I want you to see something.’ Sulla made a reach for his pocket. The click of the first tension-release of a trigger sounded close behind his ear. Both Sulla’s hands went into the air instead.

  ‘It’s only my mobile phone.’

  ‘Get it.’

  The guard’
s hand flew to the pocket Sulla had been aiming for. He pulled out the mobile into Gashi’s view. He nodded. The phone was thrust into Sulla’s hand. He lifted it and pressed in the speed-dial number of Basholli. The room went still. The line opened and Sulla heard breathing at the other end.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  His thumb hit end-call. All eyes remained fixed on Sulla. His gaze lifted and scanned the faces surrounding him.

  ‘So that you can understand how serious your situation is, go up onto your roof and tell me what you see.’

  ‘We’re playing games now?’

  ‘Please. Humour me. You’ll be grateful that you did.’

  The confidence displayed by Sulla rattled Gashi. His instincts told him this was not a bluff.

  ‘Watch him,’ he snarled to the men at the table. ‘If he moves, shoot him.’

  Pistols appeared from belts and jackets.

  Gashi left the room and entered the stairwell to the rooftop. After five steps his breathing came in gasps. He stopped for a second clutching the handrail. The journey to the roof would need to be taken in stages.

  Emerging into the open air, Gashi found two of his sentries sitting with their backs against a wall, smoking. Cigarettes went flying as both scrambled to their feet and made a grab for their rifles. Gashi walked to the closer man and kicked him in the ankle. A cry of pain was quickly stifled.

  ‘Imbeciles.’

  Gashi walked across to the parapet. In the darkness beyond the floodlights he could discern nothing at all. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw them. Lights. Maybe three hundred metres away. Was the fortress illumination playing tricks on his eyes? Several hard blinks and it became clear this was not so. Dozens of lights. His eyes cast further. Lights from all angles.

  A sick, panicky feeling hit him in the stomach. No wonder Sulla Bogdani could afford to be so brash with him. He had mustered a small army. He should have guessed Sulla would never have come without a plan to ensure he left alive.

  Time for a recalculation. He had forty armed men. And the place was secure in the short term against even quite a sizeable storming. If he kept Sulla prisoner until first light, his snipers could pick off the enemy in the fields and he could summon reinforcements from the village. They would come in behind Sulla’s army and destroy them. Sulla had definitely miscalculated.

  With a glare at the guards Gashi left to go downstairs.

  Sulla watched Gashi return to the room. He noted the confident demeanour. When Gashi sat back behind his desk he did not bother trying to hide a smirk bordering on contempt.

  ‘I see you have brought friends. Just one small flaw. I have you here with me. Your men will do nothing if they think you’ll be killed. So what else can they do? Attack me? This is a fortress. You cannot win this way.’

  Sulla smiled to himself. Jeff’s plan really was working.

  ‘They are not my friends, Gashi. They are Blerim Basholli’s soldiers. All KLA. You know Blerim, don’t you? Of course you do. You shot his father.’

  Colour drained out of Gashi’s complexion. ‘You . . . you’re bluffing. Blerim would never support you.’

  ‘That much is correct. Blerim doesn’t give a damn if I live or die. Being expendable makes me the perfect negotiator.’

  Gashi’s brow creased in confusion. ‘Negotiator?’

  ‘I’ve brought you a gift, Gashi. Just so you know exactly what you’re facing.’

  Sulla turned to the second man who had escorted him in.

  ‘Please show him, will you?’

  The man stepped forward and held up the rocket launcher he had taken from the trunk of Sulla’s car.

  ‘There are more than a dozen of these out there, Gashi. Enough, I think you’ll agree, to blast this place into oblivion. If I have not left here within thirty minutes, Blerim intends ordering his men to fire.’ Sulla made a point of looking at his watch. ‘I have already been here fifteen.’

  Gashi’s eyes flicked around the faces of his men in what looked like panic to Sulla. They in turn were exchanging nervous glances and muttered comments.

  Gashi stood and raised a hand. All movement in the room ceased.

  ‘All right. All right. Settle down for God’s sake. You.’ He delivered a withering glare at Sulla. ‘If I tell you what you want to know and you leave, Basholli will do it anyway. So I have nothing to gain except the satisfaction of knowing you will go to hell with me.’

  Gashi’s stoicism took Sulla by surprise. But he had to gamble that Gashi truly had no desire to die. He raised his voice. ‘That is your best plan, Gashi? For you and all these men. What’s the point in dying like rats in this hole when there’s an alternative? I am authorised to tell you that Blerim will drop his vendetta against you for the death of his father. When I leave, no harm will come to you – or your men.’

  As Sulla expected, the mumbles coming from Gashi’s men confirmed they favoured the plan now emerging from Sulla’s mouth. This didn’t go unnoticed by Gashi. He stared at Sulla for a long moment. At last a hand reached down to somewhere below his desk and emerged with a bottle of cognac. It went onto the desktop. Two glasses followed. Sulla watched with growing relief as Gashi filled both glasses and pushed one across to him.

  Gashi shrugged. ‘I want to hear this directly from Basholli. I want to hear these words from his mouth.’

  Sulla took out his mobile phone again and dialled Basholli’s number. He passed the phone to Gashi. Gashi took it to the far end of the room. He spoke softly and appeared to listen intently. The conversation lasted nearly two minutes. Gashi was smiling when he passed the phone back to Sulla.

  ‘It seems we both live to see another day.’ Gashi held up his glass in a mock salute. ‘Gazeur.’ He downed the cognac and poured another. ‘Now it is time for me to have a moment of pleasure from this night. I shall enjoy your reaction when I give you the name of the man you seek.’

  A harsh chuckle floated in the air.

  Barry and Morgan were still awake when Jeff and Sulla returned to Morgan’s apartment. Bethany lay asleep on the couch. Barry’s two South African policemen mates dozed in armchairs, a dozen empty beer cans on the floor beside them.

  ‘You two look like shit,’ Barry said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Morgan and I have spent half the bloody night worrying.’

  Jeff appraised the place in a quick glance. ‘The apartment looks almost like new again.’

  ‘Yeah. The landlord had the windows replaced quick smart. He dragged the tradesman away from his dinner. The landlord’s wife vacuumed up the glass. Thank God we’re internationals otherwise it would’ve taken a month. Morgan’s rent is too much income for them to lose. Now, tell us what happened.’

  Sulla relayed the events of the evening. ‘Jesus, mate. You were bloody lucky. Money on the rank outsider in the Melbourne Cup would be less risky than pulling that rocket launcher stunt. So, who’s the guy responsible for all this shit?’

  ‘A man named Avni Leka.’

  ‘Who the hell is Avni Leka?’

  ‘The Municipal Court prosecutor.’

  A visible start from Morgan.

  ‘I know that name. Wasn’t he your lawyer, Sulla? The man who tricked you and had you sent to jail?’

  ‘That is the man.’

  Jeff’s gaze out into the darkness had no particular purpose. He didn’t even feel trepidation to be standing at the spot where twenty-four hours before a hundred rounds of ammunition had split the air and shattered the window. He listened to the sounds of Morgan following the others down the stairs. Their departing voices floated up to him. Then the distinctive metallic finality of a door being secured.

  He strained to hear her gentle footsteps climbing the stairs.

  He felt her pause in the doorway. Sensed her watching him. Deciding. He hardly dared breath, or to turn to look at her. The beating of his heart rose a notch. No point straining to
hear more. Carpet on the floor prevented tracking her advance any further. But, there it was: a creak of that loose floorboard just a metre behind him. He counted. One – two seconds. With the disturbing effect of little more than a butterfly wing, a hand slid through his arm. His heart rate elevated a few more notches as his shoulder took the pressure of Morgan’s head against it.

  And the age-old question posed to so many males through so many lives circulated in his head. Was this intimacy or the comforting of an old soldier returned from the front? Jeff’s head tilted for a surreptitious investigation. Meeting his gaze were a smile and the greenest eyes in creation. He felt his heart rate go off the scale.

  His next actions took on the quality of a dream. Arms drew her close. Lips found her cheek, her neck, then descended on her lips with a hunger that was returned in full.

  When Jeff lifted Morgan and carried her towards the bedroom, her arms circled his neck and a whisper brushed into his ear.

  It asked him to hurry.

  Please.

  43.

  Jeff mooched through Morgan’s kitchen. Six cupboards later, he found a jar of instant coffee and a bowl of sugar. With a mug of the steaming brew in his hand, he pushed open the door onto the third-floor balcony and stepped into a bracing morning. Slender minarets fingered into a clear sky. In the street below, women bundled up against the chill bustled along with shopping baskets and small children in tow. He noted that the police car assigned as protection during the night was gone. Sulla had sounded quite confident that now Gashi had agreed to a truce of sorts, all danger had passed. He was not so sure. He turned indoors.

  Morgan appeared wearing a light blue dressing gown and rubbing a towel through her wet hair. She stopped when she saw Jeff watching her. For a second a stupid feeling of shyness held his tongue.