by Thomas Ryan
Caldwell reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out Zahar’s passport. The photo matched, but Caldwell knew the name would be false.
‘Zahar Akbar,’ Caldwell said, reading the name from the document. ‘I won’t introduce myself. Who I am does not matter. All that matters is that you have information I want.’
Caldwell slammed the money briefcase on the table. He flicked the catch and the lid sprang open. He drew out a bundle of euros.
‘There’s a lot of money here, Zahar.’ He dropped the money back. ‘I’m not the police. I’m not even CIA.’ He smiled at the widening of Zahar’s eyes. ‘I don’t have to play by anyone’s rules. You will give me the information I want, even if we have to stay here all week. If you are lucky, maybe you will die in the process. Or you could make it easy on yourself. Cooperate. Tell us what we want to know. Then you can sit in a cell somewhere. Eat well, sleep, maybe they will let you read the Koran. It’s up to you. You understand what I’m saying here?’
No flicker of emotion. Or even comprehension. Zahar stared ahead in silence.
Caldwell knew this game. The longer the prisoner kept his mouth shut the greater the chances for his companion to escape. His head shook as if in slow sadness.
‘Very well. I’m going outside while my friends have a chat with you.’
Caldwell paused in the doorway. A ploy to signify to Zahar it was his last opportunity to cooperate. Zahar said and did nothing. But the sight of wires being removed from a black leather carry bag by one of Caldwell’s men caused a momentary widening of his eyes. A mumbled prayer in Arabic and they shut tight.
Caldwell walked away. He felt no sympathy for the man. This was a mass murderer for hire who would keep on killing given the chance. Outside in the factory area he popped a piece of gum in his mouth and leaned against the four-wheel drive. He stopped mid-chew for a fraction of a second when he heard the first muffled scream.
‘I think we are being followed,’ Leka said. He checked once more in the rear vision mirror. ‘The same green Range Rover has been behind us since we left Prishtina. They have had plenty of opportunity to pass.’
Halam turned to see for himself. ‘You are certain?’
Leka shrugged. ‘It may be nothing.’
He adjusted the electronic side mirrors, then tapped his brake pedal to slow down. The Range Rover also slowed but had drawn closer. Leka stared in disbelief at what the mirror now revealed.
‘Dear God,’ he whispered. He accelerated back to normal speed. ‘It is the New Zealander and the American woman.’
Halam thought for a second. ‘These are the people working with the American spy?’
‘Yes. Them.’
The next kilometre passed in silence. Leka stole a quick glance at Halam. His fingers were running back and forth along the barrel of the pistol. He returned steady eye contact.
‘You know, Leka. I find it a remarkable coincidence that just after you deliver the money, those people behind us and a CIA agent kick down my door.’
It took very little brain power for Leka to get what Halam was implying. He swallowed hard.
‘I’ve done nothing, Halam. Remember, they’re after me as well. It must have been Osman Gashi. The stupid fat shit who works for me. He has made this mess. Maybe he talked to the authorities. Let me make you an offer. I will give you twice our normal fee to kill him.’
Halam’s top lip curled. ‘I doubt you have that much with you. Perhaps I should cut my losses, kill you now and just take what there is.’
Leka felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Of course I don’t have that sort of money on me. I have Swiss bank accounts. More in offshore banks elsewhere. Much more. Help get me to safety and I will pay you three times your normal fee.’
Halam said nothing for another kilometre. But Leka felt a distinct sense of relief when he saw Halam had appeared to settle more comfortably in his seat. The bomber’s right arm rose to rest along the window ledge. Fingers drummed on the dashboard.
Then stopped.
‘First things first, Leka. Other than simply trying to outrun these people, do you have a plan?’
Leka nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking. They’re most likely communicating with someone in Prishtina. For the moment they’ll believe we’re heading for the Blace border and will try to intercept us either there or along the way. In ten minutes we’ll be in Ferizaj. There’s a turnoff. It leads to another crossing point. It is a winding and difficult road. Somewhere along this road we can stop and rid ourselves of our pursuers.’
Halam took a moment to think this through before nodding an approval. He held up Leka’s pistol and checked the mechanism.
Barry had been dialling Caldwell’s phone every five minutes. This time was about his fifth attempt at reaching him. ‘Where the fuck is he? He always manages to show his ugly bloody mug when you don’t need him.’
Bethany placed a beer on the table for Barry just as the line clicked open. ‘Jesus Christ, Caldwell. Where the bloody hell have you been?’
‘Busy. What do you need?’
‘Morgan and Jeff are following Leka. And guess what? He picked up a passenger. Arab-looking guy, exactly like our man from the hotel minus the beard.’
‘When?’
‘Twenty minutes ago. I’ve been calling you every five minutes. Sulla and Basholli have gone after them but they’re a good ten minutes behind.’
‘Damn. Where are they now?’
‘Heading for the Macedonian Border. Basholli has his clan watching out for them. At the rate they’re going they’ll be there in about forty minutes.’
‘I’ll ring the police and have them alert the border guards. Do you have a licence number and the make of car?’
Barry reeled off the information.
‘I’ll call you back in a few minutes,’ said Caldwell.
Caldwell dialed the number of the Prishtina Central Police Station. A voice answered in Albanian.
‘Do you speak English?’ Caldwell asked.
‘Yes, I do. How can I help?’
‘My name is Lee Caldwell. I’m acting with the full authority of the American Embassy in Skopje. There is a car heading for the Macedonian border. I need it stopped and the men detained. Can you please notify all border crossings?’
‘Do you have a licence number and make of car? And the identities of the men you wish us to hold?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Caldwell read them out.
‘Now the names of the two men?’
Caldwell bit his lip a second. Was the name he was about to relate going to create havoc within the local institutions?
‘I have one name only. Avni Leka.’
The line remained silent. Caldwell braced himself.
‘Are you there, officer?’
‘Yes. Yes. I am here. I’m sorry, Mr Caldwell, but there must be a mistake. Avni Leka? This gentleman is the prosecutor from the Municipal Court. A very respected man.’
‘Yes, I know who he is. He’s also wanted for questioning by the United States government.’ Caldwell hoped he hadn’t sounded too terse. It was imperative to have this policeman onside. ‘Can you also notify the UN police? My government would be most grateful.’
Another silence. Caldwell held his breath.
‘Mr Caldwell?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Leave it with me. I will handle this personally.’
Captain Agim Morina replaced the phone, thankful his men were preoccupied and did not see his face. The beating of his heart was like a jungle tom-tom in his ears. He stood, but had to hold onto the desk to steady himself. Leka was in big trouble. And the man with him he strongly suspected would be Osman Gashi.
If the internationals grabbed these two, surely he’d be next under the blowtorch.
He could buy time by allowing these two to escape over the bor
der; then he would have a chance to work on making things less disastrous for himself. It would not be possible to completely ignore the American’s request. But he could delay passing on the information. For a few hours.
He walked slowly back to his office. He needed to destroy all evidence that might lead to him and find a safer hiding place for his dossier. He might need it to bargain for his freedom.
51.
That’s Ferizaj we’ve passed.’ Morgan glanced in the wing mirror. ‘Not long to the border now. I’ll feel a lot happier when we meet up with Blerim’s people.’
Jeff saw that Leka’s car was indicating a turn. ‘What’s he up to now?’
‘He’s turning onto the overpass.’
Jeff’s foot eased off the gas. ‘Where the hell does that go to?’
‘Turn left at the end of it and you end up at Bondsteel. The American base.’
‘I doubt he’s going there.’
‘You are so clever. But if he goes right after a few back roads and a mountain pass or two, he’ll be at the Glloboçice border crossing. It’s how you get to Tetovo. That’s Macedonia’s second largest city. It also has a large ethnic Albanian community. He probably has contacts there.’
‘I don’t like this. We really are on our own out here.’
‘Well, we’ve come this far we can’t lose them now.’ Morgan opened her phone. ‘I’ll call Barry to let Sulla know we’re turning off.’
Jeff pulled in to the side of the road. ‘What are you doing, Jeff?’
‘Dropping you off. Sulla isn’t far behind. He’ll pick you up.’
Morgan’s eyes were like emerald daggers. ‘You’ll what?’
‘I have a bad feeling about this, Morgan. You need to get out.’
‘Cut the bullshit and drive.’
‘Hey. We’ve got to consider that they may be on to us. They could be leading us into a trap. I can handle whatever they throw at me. But I may not be able to look out for us both.’
The green eyes bored into Jeff’s. ‘I can look out for myself. I’m staying right where I am. Now drive. We don’t have time to argue.’
Jeff shook his head and engaged the drive lever. ‘Okay. But when you’re lying in a hospital bed with a bullet in your pretty little arse, don’t come whining to me.’
Feeling himself all but truly horsewhipped, Jeff drove across the overpass, turned right and accelerated. Within minutes the surroundings opened to pasturelands. Ahead, the dark of forested slopes approached.
‘Pretty little arse?’ Morgan muttered.
He glanced across at her. Was that a smug look on her face? He should have stuck to his guns and tossed her out when he had the chance.
‘Pretty-ish.’
‘Speed up around the next corner. Stop when I tell you. Brake hard.’
Leka nodded. With his knuckles white on the steering wheel he took the bend at a speed he considered quite dangerous even under normal conditions. Once round the bend he accelerated into the straight.
‘Stop!’
The yell in his ear galvanised Leka’s response. A slither as the rear of the car swung out. They shuddered to a standstill across the road. Halam leaped out and ran into the centre. Legs astride with the pistol at arm’s length, he raised it to shoulder height and steadied.
When the green Range Rover rounded the bend into his sights, three shots went off in quick succession.
Jeff had barely registered the man in the roadway ahead when his windscreen went opaque. The wheel turned hard right towards the mossy bank. But the bend and the speed caused the SUV to spin a three-sixty and slide towards the chasm the other side. A lurch. The sickening feeling of sudden weightlessness. Sounds of snapping branches. Twisting metal. A horizon gone mad with glimpses of green and rock and grey sky and scattering wings. A plummet seemingly so slow that a man could will it to last for ever.
If he wanted.
‘Good shot, Halam,’ Leka yelled. He laughed and struck his fist on the car roof. ‘Great shot. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here before others come.’
Halam ignored Leka. He made his way to the verge and peered over the edge. His eyes followed the trail of broken branches and trees snapped off at their roots until he saw the shape of the four-wheel drive through the foliage. It had stayed upright and come to rest a hundred meters below, wedged between the trunks of two pines with doors flung wide. He saw no sign of movement. But with the vehicle still the right way up and pointed downwards, Halam knew he needed to assume the passengers had survived.
‘We need to go, Halam,’ Leka called.
‘We have time.’
Halam’s eyes surveyed the bank below his feet. Leka saw the set of the man’s jaw and threw his hands in the air.
‘You cannot be considering going down there. It is folly. They cannot follow us. Not now. They are finished. We need to escape. No one is going to find them. They’ll never be seen from the road.’
Halam turned on him. The cold determination Leka saw in that look confirmed his worst fears.
‘The Americans will kill my brother. I can do nothing to save him. But Allah has granted me this opportunity to avenge his death.’
Leka felt the pincers of medieval faith and blind justice closing in on him. He wanted to scream at Halam to get a grip. But shades of anxiety at least focused his mind. Maybe a way out of this mess was opening to him.
‘Then please hurry up and get on with it. I’ll ready the car and wait for you here.’
‘Do that, Leka. But don’t even think about driving off without me. If you do, I will hunt you down. That is what I do. You know this.’
Leka’s eyes widened. Of course he knew it. He knew life would never be safe or happy with an implacable enemy like Halam Akbar on his tail.
He walked off without replying.
Halam edged over the bank.
Jeff fought for breath. Each inhalation fired bullets of pain into his rib cage. His head throbbed. Pain made him nauseous. He jiggled the safety-belt buckle. The lever gave and the belt released. His sternum fell onto the steering column. He coughed, but the pain of it cut it short. Jeff’s only view was of the greenery and branches clinging to the walls of the chasm.
He lifted a hand to his mouth. Fingers explored his bottom lip with care. It felt swollen. Tender too. He spat out blood. It was clear that tree branches must have slowed down the rate of their descent. It was also clear the airbags hadn’t deployed because of that. From somewhere he remembered that at under 15 kph – or was it ten – the cartridges would not ignite. Or maybe the Range Rover was just a defective piece of junk and never had any airbags at all. He hoped Morgan had insurance.
Morgan.
It proved an effort to twist his neck. Her head rested on the dashboard, face turned away from him. It looked as if the belt had unbuckled but the straps were still over her shoulders. Shattered windscreen glass dangled in her hair. Sparkling like diamonds. Blood trickled down behind her ear. He tried to reach across to her. A sharp bite of pain ran the length of his arm. He tried again, this time ignoring the pain. Pressing two fingers against Morgan’s neck, he searched for a pulse. It took a moment but he found it.
He shook her gently and called her name.
No response.
He needed to get her out of the vehicle.
Arms came to his chest in a weights pull-up position. Pain not too severe. Fingers flexed. Good so far. Jeff tried flexing his leg muscles and rolling his ankles. Nothing appeared broken. Just as he began to formulate his next move, he heard voices.
In the cracked rear-view mirror, as if through a telescope the wrong way around, he made out two men standing on the bank a hundred metres above. With a squint he made out Avni Leka. He did not need many guesses to work out that his companion was the terrorist, Halam Akbar.
‘Morgan,’ he whispered.
Still
no response.
He checked in the mirror again. Halam was scrambling down the bank. Jeff balled his fists.
‘What to do, what to do . . . Think.’
A wave of nausea shot through him. A sign of concussion? Little wonder thinking was proving difficult for him. He could attempt to escape but it would mean leaving Morgan behind. He was not about to do that.
He looked back to the mirror.
No Halam.
Jeff figured the man must be rounding on the passenger door. And he could do nothing with Morgan blocking his way. He listened hard. Branches scratched on the paintwork. Halam would be trying to move closer. Jeff heard a muttered curse in Arabic. The way the vehicle had jammed against the tree trunks was hindering him from getting close to Morgan’s door. For a sickening second Jeff caught a glimpse of Halam’s face through a thicket of branches. He must have managed to climb up to the front wheel. Jeff’s heart raced. Halam would almost certainly be trying to aim his gun at him.
Then there was the faintest creak from the steering column as the front suspension supporting Halam’s weight revolved a fraction. It took a second for the implications to sink in. Jeff applied both hands to the buckled steering wheel and twisted in the same direction as that movement. A curse then the sound of crashing through the undergrowth. Jeff managed a painful grin as he pictured Halam probably ten feet below, frustrated and angry. Hopefully scratched to hell. It was a fleeting moment of pleasure. He had no doubt Halam was working his way back up to the car.
He moved his legs. His left knee hurt badly. He felt around for anything to use as a weapon. Nothing. But there was a bag of coins in the glove box. He filled his right hand with them.
Light thuds sounded up the panel work. The tops of the branches alongside the vehicle shook suddenly as if blown by a strong breeze. Low guttural mutterings met his ears as Halam manoeuvred his way along the driver’s side this time.
Every muscle in Jeff’s body tensed. The carpet of dead leaves and twigs crackled and rustled as the killer pulled closer. A head squeezed through the branches and appeared at the edge of the door that hung open. Jeff feigned unconsciousness. He viewed Halam through slit eyes. He had to judge his move with care now. As the pistol rose, Jeff hurled the coins at the face. He leaped out at the would-be assassin. The pistol fired as it flew from Halam’s grasp.
