Jet
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Keeping the machine gun aimed forward, he peered into the SUV and saw the driver leaned over Radovan's lap. The man was shredded, but his death was still far from conclusive. Through his weapon's sight, he centered the red dot on the back of the man's skull. One quick trigger removed any doubt that Radovan's security team was finished.
He pulled back up against the house and absorbed the entire scene. The carnage resembled a well-executed ambush, and there was little chance that anyone would suspect the attack was perpetrated by one person. The vehicle was shredded on all sides by bullets, and most of the safety glass lay shattered on the packed gravel. He'd fired from nearly every angle around the car, leaving shell casings scattered everywhere.
He saw that two of the guards behind the rear SUV had fallen on top of each other and immediately decided that he'd stuff one of them into the trunk of the luxury Mercedes in the garage. He'd dump the car into one of the lakes near Belgrade. The absence of a junior member of Radovan's inner sanctum would lead Hadzic to suspect that this was an inside job, and if anyone took a close look at the ground around the bodies, they would only find the washed-out evidence of three deaths.
Marko decided to skip any further house surveillance and moved toward the door. He had done a mixed job of keeping the noise level down and didn't want to waste any time if Pavle's bodyguards had been alerted.
The suppressor had performed as advertised, ensuring that the automatic weapon would not draw anyone's attention over the rainstorm, but the Range Rover was a different story. He was not at all satisfied with the noise created by the bullets that struck the SUV's heavy steel frame. To Marko, it had sounded like multiple, low speed fender benders. He would have to move quickly.
He reached his right hand over to the doorknob and tried to twist it. It didn't move. Wasting no time, he reached into his hip satchel and removed an object that resembled a small plastic explosive charge. He tightly jammed it between the doorknob and door trim. He pulled a small plastic device out of a pouch on his vest and slid it upward along the door from the first small charge. The device's LED turned green about two feet above the doorknob. He placed a second charge against the trim, where the LED flashed green. Marko pulled a small cotter pin on each of the homemade devices and pressed himself flush against the paved stone wall of the lodge.
In rapid succession, each device ignited and burned intensely for five seconds. The thermite packages created very little noise, but generated an incredible amount of smoke, usually on both sides of the door. He pushed firmly on the heavy oak door, which gave way now that the locks had been melted. He held his breath and stepped into the house. The caustic smoke obscured his vision and burned his eyes momentarily, but he immediately recognized that he was on a small landing. Several stairs led up into the house through an enclosed stairwell that separated the landing from the main house and kept him out of sight.
His ears picked up a familiar sound, which relieved him of any fears that his attack had been compromised. A hardcore rap song vibrated throughout the lodge. His mouth formed a thin grin as a Serbian-accented "yeah, motherfucka" echoed alongside the lyrics.
He eased up the stairs and peeked around the corner. The lodge's ground floor was an open concept space, which gave him a clear view straight through the kitchen, into the great room. Marko didn't see any smoke detectors in the kitchen, which allowed him to relax the pace slightly.
The ceiling opened up just past the eat-in kitchen area to form a two-story great room, with floor to ceiling windows on the far wall facing Marko. A dark gray slate fireplace and chimney split the middle of this wall and disappeared into the timber-framed ceiling. The men were stationed around a rustic, dark wooden coffee table, which was centered on the fireplace and littered with a pile of mixed currency. A dimly-lit chandelier hung low over the coffee table, attached to the ceiling by a thick, black chain.
He spotted Pavle immediately, which was not a difficult task. Pavle was paralyzed from the waist down and confined to a wheelchair, which faced the fireplace. Both of Pavle's outstretched arms embraced the deep hip-hop beat with a slow, synchronized wave. Each hand held a thick stack of American bills.
He assessed the bodyguards. A large, stocky man in a black turtleneck sweater and brown jacket stood in front of Pavle, bouncing up and down completely out of rhythm. The second bodyguard sat on a dark, rich leather couch to the left of the table, nodding his head to the steady rhythm and rolling what Marko assumed to be a marijuana joint. He didn't see any obvious weapons and chuckled at the pathetic crew in front of him.
Ready to make his move, he took the time to touch the razor-sharp edges on both the front and back of the climbing axe. The axe would provoke the final outrage. The inevitable civil war between two of Slobodan Milosevic's largest paramilitary groups would tear Belgrade apart from within and give Marko the cover he needed to tie up a few more loose ends before vanishing. For the first time in several years, he felt hopeful.
His time in this shithole of a region was rapidly coming to an end, and he intended to walk away with a little more than just the satisfaction of a job well done. Pavle held the key to his brother's vast criminal fortune, which would soon belong to the United States government—minus a small finder's fee. He caressed the axe's blade once more before he lowered his body to a full crouch and slipped into the kitchen. He still had a long day ahead of him.
About Steven Konkoly
Steven Konkoly graduated from the United States Naval Academy and served for eight years in various roles within the Navy and Marine Corps. He currently lives with his family on the coast of southern Maine.
He published his first novel, The Jakarta Pandemic, in 2010, followed by three novels in the Black Flagged series: Black Flagged (2011), Black Flagged Redux (2012) and Black Flagged Apex (2012). Black Flagged Vektor is his fifth novel. Steve is currently working on The Perseid Collapse, a sequel to The Jakarta Pandemic, to be released later this year.
Please visit Steven’s blog for updates and information regarding all of his works.
www.stevenkonkoly.com
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