“That’s one massive gamble for you to take,” Caslin said as convincingly as he could manage.
“Perhaps so,” Durakovic replied. “But unlike you, I am an exceptional poker player. I don’t like to lose. If you come off worse in my world, more often than not, you end up dead.”
“A bit dramatic, if you don’t mind me saying?” Caslin said, glancing around. There were eight men present, not including the boss, Stefan and himself.
“Seeing as we have a little time, let me tell you a story,” Durakovic said as Karl came alongside him, putting a chair down for him to set on. Caslin inclined his head. Something told him that he wasn’t going to enjoy Jackanory today. “Imagine the most scenic picture you can, rolling fields, a river valley framed on all sides by rugged and yet, beautiful mountains. All of which crafted by God to inspire poets the world over.”
“Wonderful,” Caslin muttered but his sarcasm was ignored.
“That was where I grew up, a small town called Žepa. Do you know it?”
“Should I?”
Durakovic shrugged, “No, probably not. It’s in Bosnia now, although for my early life it was in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. A beautiful place…tainted by such pain.”
“Pain?” Caslin asked.
“I left in “95, when the Serbs took the town. I had stayed longer than I probably should have, to be with my mother and sister. Our father was away, serving in the army but I ran when the shelling started. We knew what happened to Bosniak men at the hands of our enemies. Žepa is not far from Srebineca and Goražde, if that helps you at all?”
“It does,” Caslin nodded.
“Think of me, eighteen years old with nothing but…how do you English say…the shirt on my back, fleeing into the mountains? Those few of us spent the rest of the summer and all of the following winter, in that terrain. A life harsher than I could ever have imagined possible. At least, not one that I could foresee surviving. I learnt a lot about myself and the world around me, in those days.”
“Please enlighten me,” Caslin said. Stefan groaned and he glanced at his brother but besides the sounds, he didn’t move.
“I learned first that I could survive, even when the odds appear virtually impossible and always stacked against me. Second, that I should never take for granted what life has to offer, for it can vanish in an instant. You know my father disappeared during the Homeland War. We have no idea what became of him. My mother? She was forced to watch as my sister was raped by the VRS-”
“The VRS?” Caslin asked.
“The Serbs,” Durakovic stated flatly. “Then they raped her. My sister, Irena, could never come to terms with it. She fell pregnant by one of them and took her own life, along with that of her unborn child, rather than live with her shame.”
“For them, I am sorry,” Caslin said with sincerity. Durakovic looked to him, reading his response as genuine.
“As for my mother, she died of a broken heart. Her husband missing, presumably dead. The loss of her daughter and, as far as she knew anyway, her son, who perished in the mountains. You see, life depletes your resolve, unless you can find a way to strengthen it and push back. Valuable lessons. Harsh but valuable, all the same. Whatever life throws in your direction you must turn it to your advantage.”
Caslin sniffed loudly, “Great story. Why tell me this?”
Durakovic shrugged, “I felt you should at least have an understanding of who it is you have come up against. Perhaps you can then understand why I utilise the methods that I do.” Caslin looked past him, at his brother.
“Your methods are brutal.”
“Do you think?” Durakovic said, also looking at the beaten figure that vaguely resembled Stefan. “This…this is nothing. In my country and that of my former adopted-home in Kosovo, I have seen…and done, far worse.”
“Is there a point to it?”
“There’s always a point,” Durakovic said boisterously. “Even if only to send a message.”
“To whom?”
The gangster took on an intense expression, his tone menacing, “Anyone who even dares to think they can take what is mine.”
“Melissa Brooke?” Caslin asked.
“Melissa Brooke,” Durakovic confirmed. “Employees can look but they never get to touch my girls and most certainly, never get to keep them!”
“Their mistake was to fall in love-”
“You’re quite right. Love clouds the mind and alters perception. Your brother made an error and now he is paying the price.”
“He didn’t kill her,” Caslin said, shaking his head.
“Something that he was emphatic about,” Durakovic nodded his agreement. Turning to Stefan, he smiled and then shot him, high in the leg. Stefan arched in his chair, the accompanying scream was chilling.
“He didn’t fucking do it!” Caslin shouted.
“To be fair to your brother, he has been consistent as well as quite convincing. But if not him, then who-”
“No-one,” Caslin interrupted, eyeing his brother with concern. Stefan whimpered, tears falling unbidden from swollen eyes and mixing with the sheen of perspiration and wet blood, on his skin.
“What do you mean?” Durakovic asked, a look of surprise crossing in his face as he casually aimed his gun towards Stefan, in a circular motion.
“No-one killed Melissa,” Caslin said calmly, locking eyes with his captor who appeared about to protest. “She’s a…was…a paranoid schizophrenic, prone to bouts of delusion. That night, she thought people were trying to kill her and she took off.”
“If what you’re saying is true, then how did she come to die?” Durakovic asked, genuinely interested.
“She bore no signs of having been attacked, no signs of sexual assault but many of self-harming. Clawing at her own skin indicates that she thought…we’ll never know for sure…but during bouts of psychosis, like this, people can see things that aren’t there, insects, snakes, and they think they’re being smothered. She was trying to get away from whatever she was seeing. The tearing off of her clothes, the self-inflicted wounds all over her body…it’s the only logical conclusion.”
“The murderer you’ve been seeking…it’s not your brother?”
“No, we caught the killer, or at least…he’s dead. Melissa wasn’t one of his victims, she just stumbled into one of his dumping grounds…probably tripped in the dark, hit her head on the way down and tumbled into the river.”
“She drowned? What…by accident?” Durakovic sounded incredulous.
“Like I said, it’s the only logical conclusion.” Durakovic pulled himself upright in his chair, casting a glance towards Karl, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.
“This is a very interesting theory that you have,” he said to Caslin. “Completely unprovable.”
“Nor can it be proven that she was murdered.”
“Neither of which changes the fact that your brother, here,” he said, indicating Stefan with the barrel of the Glock, “planned to rob me of my merchandise. This makes me look bad, weak and I cannot allow that to pass.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Caslin asked, holding his arms out from his sides, palms upwards. “If you kill my brother, I won’t stop until I’ve brought you down.”
Durakovic laughed then, it was a deep sound of genuine humour, “You British and your sense of honour and fair play. I thought you would’ve left that in your Imperial past. I’ll tell you this. After my world was destroyed, survival became my only focus. To do so, I had to make myself indispensable to some of the most unpleasant people imaginable. You see, when you have nothing left to lose, things become far simpler.”
“How so?”
“It is good that you ask. My fledgling country, emerging from the shadows of her Soviet past, required people of talent to ensure we could stand on our own. Our government was overseen by the UN, for many years, whilst we constructed the apparatus of statehood. If anything positive came from decades of Communism and the Homeland War, it was the acceptan
ce of a need for security. I provided that. Many years on from the events of Žepa, I used my position to track down the man who ordered the attack on my family. I have found there to be few in this world who will not…accommodate…your wishes, when money is the temptation.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“He had no recollection of my sister, my mother, or the actions of his men in Žepa. Whether that was true or not, is largely irrelevant. They were nothing to him. That day, he learned the third lesson that has carried me through the rest of my life.”
“Oh please, do tell,” Caslin said.
“When you become a monster, you must ensure there are no blood ties to come after you.” Caslin’s heart froze when those words were uttered.
“Do you think you can kill a British policeman and get away with it?” Caslin said, trying hard to disguise the terror coursing through him.
“I told you, Inspector Caslin. I have made myself indispensable.”
“What does that actually mean?”
“It means that he has friends,” a recognisable voice said, from above. Caslin turned to look up towards the mezzanine. Descending the stairs was the last person he expected to see, Sara. She stopped halfway, leaning on the steel balustrade, sighing deeply. “Nate, you always manage to put yourself right in the heart of it, don’t you?”
Caslin was dumbstruck, “Sara, what the fuck is going on?”
She shook her head, glancing away, “Like Anton said, he has made himself extremely useful over the years.”
Durakovic’s face split a broad grin, “Ask yourself, how I got into your country? How is it that I am able to do what I do whilst keeping your kind at arm’s length?”
“Exactly what I’d like to bloody well know,” Caslin practically shouted, glaring up at Sara.
“When you live in our world, Nate, sometimes you have to play by different rules-”
“Bullshit!” Caslin threw back at her. “Are you going to stand there and let him kill Stefan…me?”
Sara took on a pained expression, “It’s not my call, Nate. I’m sorry.” With that she turned around and walked back up the stairs.
“Sara!” Caslin shouted after her, fighting the rising panic. Upon reaching the landing she stopped but didn’t look back.
“Do what you’re going to do, Anton but make it quick and make it clean.”
“Sara,” Caslin called after her again, only with less conviction. She passed from view, without acknowledging his calls. “Fuck!”
“Now you’re learning the ways of my world, Inspector Caslin. For what it is worth to you, I am sorry that it has come to this.”
“Really?” Caslin said sarcastically, looking around, desperately seeking a solution.
“No,” Durakovic said, grinning once again. “You are a hypocritical man, with your flexible morals and illiterate notions of right and wrong. The world is not fair and you should’ve accepted that a long time ago. Had you done so, you might have lived longer.”
Durakovic raised the Glock, pointing it directly at Caslin who gritted his teeth. The first shot sounded and Caslin flinched, Durakovic took a round high in the chest. A second followed, striking him slightly to the right of the first. All present turned to where the shots had come from as more rained down upon them, the sound reverberating around the warehouse with ear-splitting clarity. Two of the bodyguards fell in quick succession before they could draw their weapons. The remainder broke for cover. Caslin ran forward and threw himself against his brother, knocking the chair over and sending them both crashing to the floor. Stefan grunted as they hit the ground, Caslin shielding him with his own body. Looking up he saw Sara on the gantry above, unleashing another volley of fire from an assault rifle, onto those below. Despite being outnumbered, she had them pinned down from an elevated position and they were, for the time being at least, outgunned by her superior firepower.
Caslin struggled at the restraints, binding Stefan to the chair. Durakovic’s men were returning fire but only in Sara’s direction. So far, they were ignoring him. Realising there was no way he could release his brother without a knife, he resorted to dragging him, chair and all, towards a pallet stack in order to use it as cover. As he struggled past, he stooped to retrieve the Glock from the floor alongside Durakovic, the gangster’s lifeless eyes staring directly at him. The action didn’t go unnoticed. Almost immediately, concentrated fire centred on his position. Wood splintered all around him as he threw them both behind their makeshift sanctuary. Something grazed the side of Caslin’s face and he let out a scream of pain and frustration, sinking to his knees. Seeing his dilemma, Sara turned her fire on Caslin’s attackers. Another body fell backwards with part of his head missing.
Taking advantage of the respite Sara was granting him, Caslin checked Stefan for further injury. Relieved to find nothing new, he inspected the leg wound. A rudimentary check, all that he could manage, revealed what looked like a clean through-and-through, having missed any major artery. Stefan grunted as he applied pressure to try and stem the bleeding, as best he could. Touching his forearm to his own face, he judged it most likely superficial, probably caused by a shard of wood or a deflected bullet-fragment. Movement in the corner of his eye indicated someone was attempting to try and outflank his position. Caslin let off a couple of rounds but failed to halt the advance. To his relief, Sara managed what he couldn’t and drove the assailant back into cover under a hail of gunfire.
Caslin was unsure how tenable his position was but he was unable to move Stefan. His brother was in no fit state to stand, let alone run and any attempt to carry him out would be an act of suicide. A flash of colour to his left sent Caslin diving to the floor, bringing his gun to bear as a second muzzle flash erupted in front of him. Squeezing the trigger, he put two rounds into a faceless body. By his reckoning, that reduced the enemy’s combatants by half.
The realisation that remaining where they were would get them both killed sooner rather than later, struck him. Caslin inspected Stefan’s restraints, once again. Pulling at the ties did nothing to loosen them but it did make his brother moan, almost inaudible against the backdrop of gunfire. Following the initial bedlam of Sara’s assault, the confrontation had degenerated into a random pattern of sporadic bursts, as those taken by surprise tried to improve their standing. They realised that Sara held the advantage and they’d need to avoid going toe-to-toe with her or they’d likely lose out. Durakovic himself, along with several others were testament to that.
The lessening of the exchanges did little to allay Caslin’s fears. His eyes scanned the surrounding area for a blade, of any description, that he could use to free his brother. There were none. He swore under his breath. Examining the chair, he found it to be old and not in the greatest condition. One of the rear legs had snapped off, most likely when Caslin bundled him over. The entrance door, to the side of the frontal shutters, was tantalisingly close. With Sara providing elevated cover, they had a chance. He figured they were safe for the time being, as all of Durakovic’s men had gone to ground. A single shot rang out, ricocheting off the gantry above. Sara returned the compliment with a burst from her rifle and all fell silent again. The sound of movement above saw Caslin lose sight of Sara as she shifted location.
Caslin applied some pressure to the first of the chair legs to which his brother was tied. There was a bit of give and Caslin levered Stefan onto his side, set himself and drove his foot down as hard as he could. The leg split off at the joint. With great effort, he shifted Stefan’s weight in order to give him purchase on the remaining leg, keeping Stefan bound to the chair. The ungracious movement appeared to rouse him from his barely conscious state and he growled, clearly in pain.
“Fucking hell, Nate!” he swore in almost incoherent speech, such was the swelling to his face.
“Nice to see you too,” Caslin replied as he delivered another stamp to the chair. This time the leg failed to break. Another blow brought yet more cussing at him. A figure stepped into view and Caslin rais
ed the Glock only to see his would-be attacker pitch sideways, at pace, with two rounds lodged in his back and side. A glance up saw Sara looking down the barrel at him.
“Get a move on,” she shouted, turning her attention elsewhere. Caslin nodded and redoubled his efforts. With three more kicks, his brother was free. Caslin dragged him to his feet, putting one arm over his shoulder and supporting him at the waist. One last glance around to check if they should go was greeted by another shout. “Move. Now.” Caslin didn’t wait to be told a second time and without looking, he set off for the door. Stefan groaned amid sharp intakes of breath. Evidently his body had also taken something of a hammering since his capture. Gunfire exploded into life behind them but Caslin continued on, the Glock, now held in his left hand, would be pretty useless as he couldn’t turn and fire with any degree of speed or accuracy. The sound of Sara’s weapon resounded in the confines of the warehouse. He had no doubt she had their back. The thought of how she would escape briefly came to mind but there was nothing he could do about that; she would find a way. At least, that’s what he told himself as they breached the threshold of the exit.
Once outside, Caslin realised he had no plan for how to make their escape. They were shuffling forward but Stefan was struggling and Caslin bore the load, practically dragging him onwards. His ears were ringing so loudly that the traffic noise from the nearby main-road, was lost to him. Glancing over his shoulder for signs of pursuit, he was pleased to see none. They pressed on towards the main gate, some sixty yards, distant. This was another major obstacle. Caslin knew it to be mechanically operated and easily nine feet, in height. He had little chance of getting over it and Stefan had none, in his condition. Thirty feet away, a buzzer sounded along with the reassuring clank of the mechanism, kicking into life. The metal barrier began to open in, towards them. Caslin grinned.
“Sara, I fucking love you,” he said with excitement.
“What’s that, little brother?” Stefan mumbled.
Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2) Page 29
