The Field of Blackbirds (A Jeff Bradley Thriller)

by Thomas Ryan

  ‘Um. I helped myself to a coffee.’ He held up the cup as if in need of evidence for his claim. ‘When I’ve finished this, I’ll use the shower if you don’t mind. Then head back to the hotel for a change of clothes.’

  Morgan smiled and shook her head. ‘You could have joined me if you’d wanted to.’

  ‘The thought did cross my mind.’

  Wrapping the towel round her head Morgan tucked in an end at the back to secure it in place then turned her attention to the kitchen. She took a small carton of Columbian coffee from the freezer and scooped three spoons into the cafetière. Boiling water followed. ‘That won’t take long to draw.’ She drew up a chair to the kitchen table. ‘You know, I don’t mind admitting that all of this violence scares the hell out of me. But you actually seem to revel in it. So I’m curious, Jeff. Why leave the military to go into winemaking of all things?’

  Jeff leaned against the doorframe and peered across the top of his coffee. ‘It’s no big deal. Not really. When I joined the army, I trained at Burnham Military Camp in the South Island of New Zealand, not far from Christchurch. On my second weekend leave after finishing training, I met Rebecca. My ex. I was at a disco with a bunch of the guys and she tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to dance. She was an attractive blonde. How could I say no?’

  ‘Goes without saying,’ Morgan said. Jeff couldn’t help but notice the wryness in her smile. ‘There’s absolutely no way a man can turn down a beautiful blonde.’

  Jeff pulled a grimace. ‘Okay, okay. Smartarse. Anyway we started seeing each other and before I knew it, we were married. We were happy and even talked about starting a family. Then I had a chance to try out for the SAS. I passed the selection course, which meant a transfer to Auckland, New Zealand’s biggest city. Way up north. That’s where the SAS is based. For a few years all was fine. I loved being in the Squadron, but Rebecca didn’t like Auckland at all. She tolerated it for my sake. She was a Christchurch girl and wanted to stay in the South Island. But the army is the army. It owns you and you go where it sends you.’

  ‘You had no choice in the matter?’

  Jeff shrugged. ‘I could have not applied. But once they accepted me, no. I had no choice. I was away much of the time – overseas, on active duty mostly. The life suited me. But Rebecca became depressed. Complained about the loneliness. Never stopped wanting to go back to Christchurch. At the time I didn’t really understand it. There were army wives’ support groups for while their men were away. I thought she’d be happy drinking tea and shopping with friends.’

  Morgan shook her head. ‘Words of a chauvinist, Jeff.’

  ‘You’re right. Even my own mother would agree with you, you’ll be happy to know. She sat me down and explained what a selfish bastard I was. With a wife came responsibilities; if I’d wanted a career in the SAS, I shouldn’t have got married. I think secretly she was using guilt to get me to quit before I got myself killed.’

  Morgan stood to pour some coffee. Her head nodded even though her back was for the moment to Jeff. ‘Sounds to me like a smart woman, your mother.’

  ‘Anyway, Rebecca finally issued an ultimatum. The army or her. So I resigned from the army.’

  Cup steaming in one hand, Morgan paused, eyebrows arched, mid-stride back to the table. ‘But you and Rebecca aren’t married any more.’

  As she sat, Morgan’s dressing gown chose that moment to slip aside, exposing a slender pale expanse of thigh. Jeff’s eyes developed a will of their own. Morgan broke into a smile and quickly tended to her modesty. Jeff resisted the desire to grin like a schoolboy.

  ‘Sorry. Distracted. Where was I? No, we’re not married any more. After I’d left the army, I decided that if I had to be a civilian I was better off in Auckland. By now Rebecca hated Auckland almost as much as she did the army. We fought constantly. Then Rebecca told me she was moving back to Christchurch. And that was that.’

  ‘Have you heard from her since?’

  ‘From Rebecca? Not much. From her lawyers, a great deal. We’re still fighting over how to divide the assets. She insists I sell the vineyard. But, see, it belonged to my grandmother. She loved it, but she couldn’t look after it properly. When I took it over it was run-down and neglected, more an albatross round my neck than any meaningful sort of asset. I didn’t even fully inherit it until after Rebecca had left me. But we weren’t divorced then, either. She didn’t give a damn about it. It took me the better part of three years breaking my hump to get it productive again. We won awards for our Merlot and Chardonnay. Got some good reviews in a few food magazines so Rebecca thinks the place has become hugely valuable. I offered to buy her out but she wants it to go to auction.’

  ‘You gotta love matrimonial law.’ Morgan returned to the kitchen bench for a refill. ‘So you’re not bitter she made you leave the army?’

  Jeff shrugged. ‘My father taught me and my brothers that any decision a guy makes, good or bad, it’s his choice. Too many people hang onto the past and lose their futures.’

  ‘So you weren’t angry?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I was bloody pissed off to hell.’ Jeff laughed at his own fit of honesty, but became serious once more. ‘Look. She can have anything else she wants from me. But not the vineyard. It’s not about the money. My grandmother left me several properties and more than enough cash and investments that I never need worry about working again the rest of my life. For that, I promised her, her vineyard would remain in the family.’

  Morgan stirred her coffee, staring at the patterns the spoon made as she added cream. ‘I worried about you last night.’

  ‘Now that’s interesting, because all I could think of was getting back to you.’ Jeff moved from the doorway. A clunk as he placed his mug onto the kitchen bench. Morgan didn’t notice him taking up a position behind her chair until his arms fell either side of her with palms flat on the table top. A kiss on top of her head was followed by the caress of lips on her neck. And just as her head twisted to respond – the doorbell decided to do what doorbells do best.

  Two grown-ups jumped like teenagers caught necking in Mum and Dad’s bedroom.

  ‘Jesus, fucking hell. Oops, sorry, Morgan.’

  And two grown-ups found themselves face-to-face trying not to giggle like kids.

  The doorbell shrilled again.

  ‘Oh damn. Jeff, you’re more decent than me. Go down and get rid of whoever it is, will you? Tell them it’s the wrong house or something.’

  Part way through the door Jeff drew to a halt. Turned. Went back to Morgan and took her in his arms. Lips met, softly at first, then with more hunger.

  ‘Hmmm. Maybe I won’t get dressed just yet.’

  The doorbell intruded once more. Jeff held Morgan at arm’s length and studied her face.

  ‘Hold that thought while I go chuck the bastards out.’

  With Morgan’s laugh still in his ears, Jeff bounded down the stairs and flung open the door. His jaw dropped.

  Lee Caldwell said, ‘You don’t look all that pleased to see me.’

  ‘Well, this is kind of an inconvenient moment. I don’t suppose I can talk you into coming back later?’

  A pursing of the lips. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘Damn. Come on in, then. If you must.’

  Morgan had disappeared by the time they made it up to the kitchen. Jeff sat the visitor down and brought the coffee pot to the table with an extra cup. As he poured, he felt Caldwell scrutinising him.

  ‘Well, I guess you’re not here to pass the time of day, Caldwell.’

  ‘I hear you had some fun in Fushe Kosovo last night?’

  ‘CIA still following me?’ The humourless Caldwell smile met Jeff’s frown. ‘Last night was mostly Sulla. I stayed in the background.’

  ‘Not by choice, I wouldn’t think.’

  ‘Sulla risked his life to get the name of the man you’re looking for. Ma
ke a note of that for future reference.’

  A response looked to be on the tip of Caldwell’s tongue. But it died as Morgan walked back into the kitchen. Two pairs of male eyes were treated to the sight of a glowing redhead in navy blue blouse and jeans and just a touch of make-up. Jeff’s dearest desire right then was to toss Caldwell off the balcony and whisk Morgan off to the bedroom.

  She retrieved her coffee from the bench and joined them at the table.

  Caldwell sipped at his cup. ‘I’m curious to know why Osman Gashi isn’t dead. Or you, Bradley, for that matter.’

  ‘Blerim and Sulla wanted to blow him to hell and be gone, but I persuaded them we needed to break this terrorist gang of yours. Sulla cut Gashi a deal: Give up his boss and the KLA would leave him alone.’

  Caldwell looked mildly surprised. ‘I appreciate you keeping a clear head. Who is the boss?’

  ‘Avni Leka.’

  ‘Leka. Should I know him? The name isn’t ringing any bells.’

  ‘He’s the chief prosecutor for the Municipal Court here.’

  A slow nod from Caldwell. ‘Ah. I suppose it makes sense. He’s certainly in a position to manipulate the system. No doubt Gashi will try to warn him, deal or no deal. That sort of snake always manages to slide between both sides of any fence. Anyway, thank you. We’ll grab Leka and put an end to him.’

  Jeff’s forefinger extended upwards in front of his face like he was about to administer a blessing. ‘You might want to hold off on that for just a bit.’

  ‘Might I?’

  ‘Gashi also told Sulla that the million euros confiscated in Greece came from Leka and he’s been very jumpy. It seems some special visitors are coming to see him about that. Within the next day or so, Gashi thinks.’

  This wasn’t all Gashi had told Sulla in efforts to save his own skin. But Jeff intended keeping some of it to himself. Information he now possessed was that a man named Bedri Cena slit Arben’s throat in the prison cell. Bedri Cena had walked out of the detention centre a free man yesterday. Today Cena would be receiving a visit he never expected.

  ‘No more specific time than just the next day or so?’

  ‘No. But Gashi knew about you, Caldwell. His men saw us talking in Macedonia, and followed you to the embassy. They assumed you’re CIA.’

  The humourless Caldwell smile again. ‘Yes. I made sure they saw us. We weren’t sitting outside on a cold day for the fun of it. I hate the cold.’

  ‘Well, it might thrill you to know that when Leka heard about you, our crooked prosecutor almost had a seizure.’

  Again the Caldwell smile. ‘I’ve found it always helps move things along a bit faster if the baddies think the CIA’s after them.’

  Jeff felt heat rising at the back of his neck. Morgan put down her cup.

  ‘Well, your plan worked a treat. They shot up Morgan’s apartment two nights ago. We were all here. Go downstairs and take a look at the holes in the ceiling for Christ’s sake.’

  Caldwell shrugged. ‘Unfortunate. But now at least we’ve got Leka’s name.’

  ‘That’s not really my point.’

  ‘It’s exactly my point.’

  Jeff’s and Caldwell’s eyes locked. Neither blinked. Morgan’s chair scraped on the floor as she rose and walked to the spot in the doorway where the sun shone in.

  ‘We Americans, Jeff,’ a glare fixed on Caldwell, ‘we Americans only preach ethics.’

  Caldwell placed his cup on the table. ‘These visitors you say Leka has coming. Gashi mention any names?’

  ‘No, but I think we can rule out family and friends.’

  ‘If it was Leka who sent money to Greece to pay off the bombers, the money never got to them. They will still want payment. And frankly, they are of more interest to me than even Avni Leka.’

  Jeff stared at Caldwell in disbelief. For the CIA to have only minimal interest in a man who orchestrated and funded terrorism throughout Europe defied logic. Jeff found himself viewing Caldwell through new lenses. Maybe he wasn’t CIA after all. A maverick game-player working inside American diplomacy circles with full access to top-secret files? If so, what was the game? His eyes swivelled to Morgan. He sensed from the narrowing of her eyes on Caldwell that she had also picked up that there was something not entirely kosher going on with Caldwell. Caldwell appeared not to notice any change in the atmosphere. Either that, or he was a far better actor than Jeff had imagined.

  ‘My problem is manpower. I have a couple of men nearby, but that’s not going to be nearly enough. Besides, I have other work for them. I could use soldiers from Bondsteel, the same guys I’ve had following you lot. But they don’t have the experience for this type of covert operation. Many of the local cops are bound to be on Leka’s payroll.’

  Jeff thought he could see where this was heading. ‘I’m out of the intelligence business and on my way home.’

  ‘You’re never out. You know that. You kept your head and did good work last night. No one was killed, and you got valuable information. I’m only going to ask you to help with surveillance.’

  ‘What about me?’ Morgan said. ‘I know the city and the countryside. And I can speak the language.’

  Caldwell shook his head. ‘Leka knows who you are, and you haven’t the training. He’d be onto you in seconds.’

  ‘I don’t need training to watch a door, for Christ’s sake. And it’s doubtful Leka would even notice me.’

  Caldwell and Jeff exchanged glances. Jeff smiled.

  ‘Morgan, I don’t think it’s possible for any man not to notice you. But she’s right in one respect, Caldwell. Anyone can watch a door. Look, snake or not, Gashi isn’t likely to warn Leka he’s ratted him out. He certainly won’t be expecting covert US surveillance on him. Not yet, anyway. Sulla could get a few friends together. Blerim Basholli and his people are locals. They won’t stand out. Look. If I do this for you, I do it my way with my people.’

  The corners of Caldwell’s mouth turned down for a minute as he took time to think this through. ‘Okay, I can live with that. But no heroics. Just observe, nothing more. We’ll give it a week. If nothing has happened by then, I’ll have Leka picked up.’

  ‘I’ll need some expense money to pay Sulla and his people.’

  ‘My briefcase is in the car at the Grand Hotel car park. Come with me now and I’ll give you enough to get started.’

  Caldwell stood and made his way to the stairs.

  Jeff turned to Morgan. ‘We’ll talk later. Okay?’

  ‘You could have a shower here.’

  ‘I can’t say that’s not tempting, Morgan. But I have to meet up with Sulla. We have some, er . . . business to attend to.’

  Caldwell’s voice floated up from the floor below. ‘Are you coming, Bradley?’

  ‘Right behind you,’ he yelled. Then to Morgan he whispered, ‘I’ll be seeing you soon?’

  ‘I imagine you will.’

  On the drive back to Macedonia, Caldwell sent a text message to the Admiral. Xmas is coming early – code for I have a lead. When he got back to the embassy in Skopje he would give a full report on a secure line. The Admiral would want to know about Leka. There would be no overruling his decision to leave the municipal court prosecutor roaming free for a few days. Getting the bombers was still number one priority.

  Bradley and his ad hoc crew had kicked over a good-sized rock. The vermin that lurked beneath had been flushed into the open. But it had been more luck than skill. If only he had the manpower; he would have the New Zealander and his merry men rounded up and kept out of harm’s way while the professionals did their job. But the simple truth was that he did not have the men. So he would have to work with amateurs. Caldwell had ordered his own men to stay low, keep an eye on Bradley and wait for instructions while he was out of Kosovo. He would only be gone two days. If there was an emergency, he would have a chopper from Bondsteel
bring him to Prishtina.

  Either way, according to his judgment, the chase was nearing the end. There was little sense of elation. When it was over, he would simply move on to the next target.

  There were always new targets.

  44.

  Twice Sulla had driven down Agim Ramadani Road. Heavy traffic was making it impossible for him to park close to Prishtina’s bazaar and fruit and vegetable markets. He circled the block a third time then gave up. A street vendor selling cigarettes two blocks away offered Sulla space on a patch of council dirt, promising that for five euros he would not steal the car. For another five he would not let anyone else steal it. Sulla unleashed a tirade of outrage. Jeff handed across ten euros.

  Standing at the city-side entrance, Jeff estimated that the markets covered four blocks. Display structures varied from rambling lean-tos and converted shipping containers to more soundly constructed stores, warehouses and cafes. Lines of wooden shelving protected by canvas awnings displayed a colourful array of vegetables and fruit.

  ‘If nothing else, you grow good-quality produce in Kosovo, Sulla.’

  ‘For these we can take no credit. They are trucked in from Macedonia and Montenegro daily. Now maize. That is another story.’

  Jeff found talking about nothing in particular helped relieve tension. Cleared his head. Sulla was similarly inclined. Walking through the streets, Sulla had pointed out cigarettes, sacks of flour, sugar, rice, home appliances, electronics, glassware, carpentry tools, carpets, cans of paint and even wedding dresses. He declared himself an expert on all products and warned Jeff not to make a purchase unless he was present.

  Now the talking was done. It was time. Jeff felt Sulla’s hand on his shoulder. The big man leaned into his ear. ‘Are you certain you want to do it this way? I can get a rifle from Basholli. You can shoot from the car. It would be over quickly. No hassles.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Yes, he is. With friends.’

  ‘Which way?’