by Thomas Ryan
Jeff had the man in a bear hug. Bracing his feet on the doorjamb, he pushed himself and Halam clear of Morgan’s vehicle. They tumbled further down the bank, thorns tearing at skin and clothing. With a breath-expelling thud they landed in a clearing twenty feet below.
Jeff had managed to hold onto Halam’s shirtfront. He pulled Halam to him and delivered a headbutt into Halam’s face, shattering his nose. Halam screamed. Blood spurted from his nostrils. Jeff held on grimly. He tried another headbutt, but this time Halam managed to block him with an arm. His right hand worked up under Jeff’s chin, forcing his head back.
Jeff sucked in air. Pain assaulted every part of his body. With eyes blurring up and head spinning, he felt himself growing weaker. Probably sensing this, Halam pushed him away. Jeff rolled a few feet further into the clearing and lay on his back panting and looking up at the grey of the sky, now turning charcoal. The concussion caused him to think he was levitating a few millimetres above the ground. The idle thought that followed struck him as perfectly logical for the circumstances: hadn’t they had enough bloody rain?
His hand lifted with difficulty. It pained his shoulder. Fingers prodded a little, then stopped. A hole through the jacket. A warm sticky substance oozed across his front.
‘Jesus, I’ve been shot.’
Sounds of movement. A lazy roll of the head and he was looking at Halam crawling towards him. It took Jeff all of his remaining strength to raise himself to his knees.
Both men eyed each other. Halam’s face was bloody. The nose swollen and off-centre. Jeff worked up a grin of satisfaction. But even that exertion took its toll. And he could see that Halam was gathering strength. Jeff knew he was going to die in a few moments.
Avni Leka sat in his car, worried that at any moment help for the New Zealander and the American woman would come charging round the corner like the Ottoman cavalry on the Field of Blackbirds. And for him awaited the same fate that befell the Serbs. Minutes had dragged by since that single shot from down the bank. What the hell was Halam up to? Had he injured himself? Maybe the New Zealander had had a gun and killed Halam. He could be climbing up the slope this very minute intent on shooting him.
Leka looked towards the embankment. What was he to do? Sacrifice himself for nothing? He started the engine. He was only thirty minutes from the border. He couldn’t wait much longer. Leka pushed the gear lever into drive and stole forward. He glanced into the rear-view mirror. Still nothing.
If Halam survived, he could always deal with the man’s desire for revenge later. But to wait any longer could mean disaster for him in the present.
The decision made itself. A depression on the pedal and Leka’s car jumped forward leaving a spray of pebbles in its wake.
Jeff used his good arm to hold himself steady against the ground. Halam climbed to his feet.
‘You are a very determined man. And you have fought well. We children of the Prophet admire this. Such bravery must have its rewards. I promise I will give you a quick death.’
Jeff swayed on his knees. The spinning of his head continued. He managed to maintain eye contact with Halam while he felt across the ground. All he could come up with for a weapon was a handful of dirt. He tossed it with an arm lacking in energy. Halam stopped and smiled as it scattered at his feet.
‘Relax, my friend. It will be over quickly.’
Halam’s voice sounded almost gentle. He reached down and locked his arm around Jeff’s neck. Jeff fought for breath. Then Halam put a hand against the side of Jeff’s head. Jeff knew the hold. His neck was about to be snapped.
He had lost.
Crack! Crack!
Jeff fell forward. As he hit the ground, he rolled onto his back and gasped, air ripping into his lungs with icy sharpness along with the realisation he was still alive. Halam fell beside him, sightless eyes staring vacantly into Jeff’s own. There was a bullet hole in the side of Halam’s head. Blood poured from a second wound in his neck.
Jeff knew from the flashing lights around the periphery of his vision that he was losing consciousness. Through the haze of a darkening world he saw Morgan, fiery hair wild around her face, scratched and bloodied and standing with legs braced, holding Halam’s pistol at arm’s length. A wisp of smoke threaded from its barrel.
His last thought as he slipped into oblivion was what a woman this would be to love for a lifetime.
Lee Caldwell held his mobile phone in the air. He wanted to throw it against the warehouse wall. Instead he kicked an empty can and sent it clanging into the side of a burnt-out van.
Jeff Bradley and Morgan Delaney were not responding to Barry’s calls. He had contacted the Bondsteel military camp and they had a chopper in the air, but he was afraid it would be too little, too late.
One of his men stepped out from the warehouse wiping his huge hands on a rag. ‘I think we’re done, sir.’
‘Tell me then.’
‘They’re brothers. They use the names Halam and Zahar Akbar. Whether or not these are their real names, well, he isn’t saying. They’re Palestinians but left many years ago. The Saudi passports are false and they have others. They had never met Avni Leka until today. This Leka gave them the jobs and provided the funding. They came to Kosovo to recover the money they lost in Greece.’
Caldwell smiled. At least Dimitris’s man had not died in vain.
‘He didn’t know how Leka raised the funds or anything else to do with Leka’s business. The targets they bombed were always claimed by another organisation.’
‘Contract bombers,’ Caldwell murmured with a shake of the head.
‘He says his brother wanted to retire, marry some girl back home and live happily ever after.’ The man smiled as if at a joke. Caldwell didn’t join him. ‘But our friend wasn’t ready to settle down in a tent and herd goats. He said he was negotiating for a new contract on his own, no idea who the target is, or where, only that it’s six to nine months from now. That’s it. I believe he’s told us all he knows.’
‘Then he is of no further use to us?’ Caldwell asked.
‘None at all.’
Caldwell walked back into the warehouse. When he entered the office, Zahar lifted his bloodied head and managed a hollow smile. Caldwell faced the guard.
‘So. He thinks he’s given his brother time to escape. Well, maybe he has. Take him out to Bondsteel now. They’ll want a chat. I’m walking back to town. I need some exercise.’
52.
He felt like he was floating on a raft at sea. The fog dense about him, but in the distance, a light.
‘Can you hear me?’ The male voice was soft, quiet, American. And unfamiliar.
Jeff nodded but could discern no face anywhere. The light blinded him. Then it disappeared. The fuzzy apparition now emerging into focus at last resembled a human face.
‘Mr Bradley. I’m Doctor Joshua Kline. You are in the Bondsteel Military Hospital.’
‘Hospital?’
The tang of disinfectant now assaulting his nose convinced him this was true. He rolled his head to one side. Small lights flickered and wavy lines crossed on a green monitor screen. The machine bleeped when he rolled his head back.
‘Can you tell me your name?’
‘Jeff Bradley.’
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Kosovo.’
‘Do you know which country you live in?’
‘New Zealand. Why am I here?’
‘You were in an accident.’
‘An accident?’
Jeff’s eyes closed. He tried to concentrate. Images came and went like wraiths. He had been following Avni Leka. Then there was a man standing in the middle of the road. Morgan had been in the vehicle. They had crashed.
Jeff opened his eyes. A nurse stood at the end of the bed writing something onto a clipboard. She stepped closer to check the drip line inserted in his arm.<
br />
‘There was a woman in the vehicle with me. Morgan Delaney.’
‘Your companion was discharged the same day. She had a few scratches and bruises, nothing more.’
‘Thank God. How long have I been here?’
‘Two and half days. You were in a pretty awful state when they brought you in. You’d lost a lot of blood. You had us worried for quite some time.’
‘The men I was following. What happened to them?’
‘I’m sorry, I have no idea. You’ll need to ask someone else for that information.’
When Jeff slept again he dreamed he was fighting in a forest but could not use his arms. A man with his face hidden in shadow was laughing at him. Taunting him. Then the man disappeared and standing in his place was Morgan, holding a gun.
Even with his eyes closed Jeff recognised the perfume and smiled.
‘Hi,’ he said and opened his eyes.
‘Hi, yourself.’ Morgan took a chair and pulled it close to the bed. She sat and took his hand. ‘I won’t ask how you feel because you look awful. So I guess that’s the answer.’
‘Love your bedside manner. You’d make a lousy nurse.’
‘The doctor said you’ll be out of here in a few days. I have some important messages for you. Barry wants me to tell you that you owe him a beer, or at least that I’m to get the price of it out of you before you “kark it”. I think that means before you go toes up. And Sulla says you owe him for petrol.’
Jeff tried to laugh but winced instead. ‘I’m glad they miss me.’
‘Barry and his police friends came with me to the hotel. We moved your belongings to my apartment.’
‘What about my bill?’
‘Caldwell paid it.’
‘Morgan. You saved my life.’
She forced a smile. ‘You’ve put me through a lot of grief. Too much for someone I barely know. You owe me an expensive dinner.’
‘What about you. Any broken bones?’
‘No, but I have a few bruises in places I can’t show. And a bump on the head.’ She touched her hairline. ‘I guess we were lucky.’
He squeezed her hand.
‘Thank you for everything.’
Jeff so desperately wanted to keep looking at the beautiful woman, who, in defiance of all logic, seemed to think he was an okay bloke. But his eyelids grew heavy once more. He clung to her hand as if it was a lifeline. And as he drifted off, it comforted him to know she was watching over him.
53.
Jeff tossed his toiletries and other bits and pieces into the small carry bag. Packing with one arm in a sling wasn’t easy. His shoulder was stiff and it ached, but it was beginning to free up and the painkillers made it bearable. He would need to put up with the sling for another week or risk nerve damage, the doctor had warned him.
He had been lucky.
The bullet had missed bone and vital organs. The cuts on his face would leave interesting scars. The rest of his body had mostly healed but the inside of his mouth still felt like he had swallowed dirt. He guessed it was the drugs. He stopped short at his reflection in the mirror and nearly laughed. The bruising round his eyes had reduced to black shadows. He looked like a raccoon.
Packing finished, he stood at the window looking out. On the parade ground a hundred metres away, a drill sergeant screamed in red-faced apoplexy as he put a squad of soldiers through a routine. The sun shone and it felt good to be alive. The familiar sounds of the military brought a smile to his face. And yes, if he was honest, he did miss it.
A car was on its way to take him into Prishtina.
When he heard a light tap on the door, he turned expecting to see the driver.
It was Lee Caldwell. ‘Bradley. How’re you holding up?’
‘Been better.’
‘I would’ve come sooner but the doctor said you needed rest.’
‘Glad you came. What happened out there? I haven’t been able to get anything out of the doctor. And Morgan has been babying me and telling me to wait until I’m stronger. It seems she’s uncovered a long lost nurturing streak.’
Caldwell smiled. ‘That is one remarkable woman. As I understand it, she came around just as you jumped Halam Akbar. She managed to drag herself out of the vehicle and scramble down the bank after the two of you. She came across Halam’s pistol. Then she shot him. Seems her father had problems from time to time in his pub. Bought a gun to protect the daily takings and taught all the family how to use it. Lucky for you, she’s a pretty handy shot.’
‘I can’t argue with that.’
‘Morgan did a good job stopping the bleeding. And lucky for you again it was still daylight. When Sulla and the others arrived, they were able to wave down the chopper from Bondsteel and you were brought here. Apart from your well-earned battle scars, you and your friends have come through this little adventure relatively unscathed.’
‘And Avni Leka?’
Caldwell sighed. ‘He got away. I sent out an alert to the borders but somehow he still managed to slip through. It’s a loss, but we now know who we’re looking for. We had a stroke of luck when we found one of the officers taking payouts from him – the one who nearly got you killed by failing to pass on my information to the border police. He was keeping a file on Leka and his activities, which has been extremely useful.’
Jeff zipped his bag closed. ‘The money for Sulla and Blerim?’
‘Taken care of.’
A soldier appeared at the door and reported that Jeff’s car was ready. Caldwell picked up Jeff’s bag.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you out.’
Jeff discovered that Caldwell was of the same mind as him as he made to skirt around the top of the parade ground. Only an ex-soldier would know you never walk on the parade ground when a drill sergeant is in the vicinity.
‘You’re definitely not CIA, are you?’
‘No? How do you figure?’
‘If you were, there’d have been Navy Seals and black-ops types swarming all over this before us amateurs even knew enough to blink.’
Caldwell said nothing, his pace matching Jeff’s.
‘You’re not with US Trade either.’
Caldwell glanced at him with a half-smile.
‘And I’m thinking you’re not going to tell me who you’re really working for, are you?’
‘No. But you, Bradley. You will be going back to New Zealand now, won’t you?’
‘Oh, yeah. I’m looking forward to going home.’
The driver stood by the open door to assist Jeff. Caldwell waved him away. He threw Jeff’s bag onto the back seat. ‘Then I guess this is goodbye.’ They shook hands. ‘Have a good life, Bradley. You deserve it.’
Caldwell helped Jeff into the car then stepped back to close the door. Jeff held up his hand to stop him. ‘From an operational point of view, was it a success for you?’
‘We broke them up. Captured one terrorist bomber and killed another. Maybe we’ll capture Avni Leka before he can regroup and start up somewhere else. Maybe not. In my world this is a success.’
Caldwell slammed the door shut, then tapped the roof of the vehicle.
Jeff asked the driver to drop him at the top of the lane that ran down to the Kukri bar. Morgan had left a message that she would wait for him at the pub. An hour in the back of the Bondsteel vehicle had stiffened his body. It needed a stretch.
Bag in hand, Jeff made his way down the slope. His left knee was troubling him and he walked with a limp. The jolt from each step reverberated across his cracked ribs. But despite the pain and soreness he was happy to be out and about.
The bar owner, Big John, halfway through pouring a pint caught sight of him entering. They exchanged nods. Soldier to soldier. Jeff’s pathway to the bar was blocked by patrons crowding around island tables watching Match of the Day on the TV. From the bar Big John bellowed for e
veryone to move aside.
A way opened.
Morgan, Barry, Bethany and Sulla stood at Barry’s usual spot. Their faces beamed Welcome home, but Jeff could see in their eyes another emotion he had not experienced in a long time. The deep-seated camaraderie that comes from having shared a dangerous mission.
Morgan took a step towards him. Jeff let his bag drop to the floor and reached out with his one good arm. She took his hand and raised her head to brush his lips with hers.
Barry picked up Jeff’s bag. ‘Enough of that you two. Come on, mate, we’ve saved you a spot. A lot of bloody beer will be drunk tonight.’
‘Barry. What I need most is a table and orange juice.’
‘Consider it done, mate.’
After an hour and too many drinks, Sulla took his leave and Barry and Bethany were back arguing with the South Africans.
Morgan and Jeff were at last face-to-face and alone. ‘When are you leaving? You are leaving?’
Jeff chuckled.
‘This time, yes. In a few days. I have a vineyard to run, remember.’
‘And Arben Shala’s family? What about them?’
‘I’m hoping they’ll stay on. Marko knows as much about wine as his father did. The kid’ll make a good manager. But Kimie’s proud. I’ll need to convince her it’s not charity. Then there’s Arben’s vineyard here. I doubt Kimie will ever want to come back so I’ll ask Sulla to oversee it until she decides what she wants to do. There’s a good man running the place so Sulla doesn’t need to know much about the industry. And I’m sure if there’s a way to get bulk wine out of Kosovo, Sulla will find it. Having a brother-in-law who is a smuggler might be a big help.’
