Battling Brexit

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  “What is this? Who is there?” a gruff voice calls from the other side. He starts to lean around and sees the running guards inside. I leap forward and grab the goon guarding the door by the shoulder and throw him forward into the other guard on the other side of the door. They go down together. Afrim and I dart through the threshold. Two of the guards who are chasing us start to close the distance. The others stop to assist their fallen fellow goons. We run toward the abandoned rail terminal that Drago and Afrim use as their house.

  “Rada, come!” I yell.

  My Šar Mountain Dog runs out of the train station. She sees the men after us and bolts for them, leaping on the one who is closest to us. She tackles him and rips his throat out. The other man stops in his tracks.

  I turn the corner and see Drago running toward me with another goon behind him. I point to Drago’s pursuer. “Rada, get him!”

  She dashes for the guard and takes him down the same way she did the last guy.

  The spectators are starting to spill out of the warehouse. They don’t seem to be coming after us. That would result in a wild chase through the city, which would only make it obvious that this rally happened. The spectators probably have orders to cover this up.

  “We just need to make it back to a main street. They won’t pursue us. They need this event to remain secret,” I whisper to Drago and Afrim.

  We bolt for a street and leave the partially abandoned complex of Tour et Taxis, making it feel like we’ve just been transported back from a surreal world. Afrim and Drago take a second to bear-hug each other, and then we keep running.

  After a while, we slow down and walk at a more normal pace so we don’t call attention to ourselves. “See,” I say to Drago, “Rada isn’t just a one-trick Šarplaninec. Do you know any place where we can wash the blood off her?”

  “Yeah,” Drago pants. “There are ponds in Marie-José Park.” He’s silent for a minute and he raises a knuckle to his mouth, thinking.

  I’m confused too, so I say, “Okay, let’s try and help each other make some sense out of what we just saw go down back there.”

  Drago creases his eyebrows. “Apparently, Daesh, the worst extremist organization out there, is recruiting in Brussels now. That probably means they’re planning something big in Europe, or maybe even in Brussels.”

  “That’s not what I mean. That’s not the weirdest part,” I tell him as we reach a park with a few ponds in it. I direct Rada’s head down to the water so I can wash the blood off of her. She starts lapping the water up, helping me by getting the water all over her muzzle. I explain to Drago: “There was this British guy there, hiding behind the stage. It sounded like he was in favor of Brexit and he’s secretly supporting Daesh, for some reason.”

  Drago shakes his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Fear of organizations like Daesh is one of the things that make people in Britain support Brexit. Why would some Brexiteer think that supporting these guys is a good idea? It would totally backfire if people even suspected.”

  Afrim finally speaks, turning to me and still looking somewhat shell-shocked. “Guys, wait. There’s even more to it. A lot more. Elena, did you recognize the British man we saw down there?”

  “No, should I have?”

  “He wasn’t just any Brexiteer. That was Nigel Farage, one of the heads of the UK Independence Party himself.”

  Drago mutters to himself. “Why would Farage be working with Daesh?”

  “Farage wasn’t talking to just anyone,” Afrim goes on. “The guy Farage was talking to? It was Abd al-Qadir. He kidnapped me.”

  Drago takes in a breath.

  I shake my head in confusion, “Who?”

  “The Muslim extremist guy who made me fight in the Kosovo war as a teenager. I may have my issues with Avdi, but if pure evil exists in human form, al-Qadir is it. No wonder he had it out for Afrim and me. I’ll bet he’s behind whatever is going on in Brussels. The question is: what exactly is he up to?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “But we’re safe, at least for now. It’s up to us to tell everyone what we just saw, as soon as we can.”

  “Right.” Drago rolls his eyes for some reason. “Collusion between the Brexiteers and Daesh? I find it cute how you’re assuming people will believe us.”

  Seven:

  The Reception Bombing

  Elena

  Hristijan fumes at me, which by now I’ve kind of come to expect. “I absolutely cannot believe the risk you took. You were supposed to be watching Erika, but instead I came home to find her alone, hyped up on about two liters of Coca-Cola, while you went running off with some young man from that student guild you belong to, looking for his brother, when you knew he had likely been kidnapped by a terrorist cell!”

  “But he had been,” I shoot right back at him. “We rescued Afrim. By doing that, we found out something that could be huge. You know that terror organization from Iraq and Syria, Daesh? They’re in Brussels; they’re brazenly recruiting right under everyone’s noses. It looks like they are getting takers. They had this huge rally in the abandoned depot near where Drago and Afrim live.”

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Lucija says from the couch, in front of her laptop. “If they had a rally the size of a small sporting event, I’d have known about it.”

  I stomp over to her and snap, “Says the woman who admits that she only got this job because of who her father is. Apparently, you’re not as well informed as you think you are. None of the so-called authorities in this city are.”

  She bristles, “You’re one to talk. Don’t think I don’t know who your friends are. The terror cells up in Molenbeek are a bunch of idiots, just like the two of them are.”

  “They’re not idiots. That complacent attitude is what I’m trying to warn you about. Drago says that it’s putting us and all of Europe in danger. If Daesh is here, the security situation is about to get a lot worse and Europe isn’t on top of it.”

  “Yeah, well, if this Drago knows so much then he could try reporting all that stuff to the police,” Lucija growls back at me.

  “That might open up the can of worms related to all he had to do back in Kosovo. Admit it. You’d have him arrested in a heartbeat.”

  Lucija hunches her shoulders. “Probably. It would keep him away from you at least.”

  I ignore my irritable cousin and turn back to Hristijan. “Anyway, it gets weirder. Daesh is getting help from the Brexiteers in secret. Money, somehow, I think. From the crane on the ceiling that Afrim and I were dangling from, I saw this British guy there freaking out that he’d be seen. Afrim recognized him as Nigel Farage, the leader of UKIP himself. He was talking to a guy named Abd al-Qadir, who made Drago fight during the Kosovo war.”

  “Abd al-Qadir,” Lucija drawls. “Never heard of him. It was probably nothing.”

  I throw my hands out at her. “That’s my point. The people who know what they’re doing, or are actually plotting something, know how to evade detection.”

  I expect what I just said to produce a reaction from Hristijan. It does, but not the one I’m expecting. “You were hanging from a crane?”

  I shrug. “Yep. Then we escaped out the other side of the warehouse and Rada mauled a couple of Daesh’s goons.”

  Hristijan looks over at the other side of the living room, where Rada is playing with Erika. Hristijan does a double take.

  “That’s crazy. What you are saying happened makes no sense. You’re just making it up rather than dealing with how your studies are going.”

  “Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me. My studies are getting better. I swear I’m telling the truth.”

  “Fine.” Lucija slams her laptop shut and picks up her phone. “If you’re that insistent about it, I’ll ask the Bruxelles Ville and Ixelles Police Department to go and check the warehouse in Tour et Taxis. If any of what you’re saying is true, Daesh won’t be able to completely cover it up.”

  “Good. You’ll see.”

&nbs
p; “In any case,” Hristijan intones, “don’t mention any of what you saw when you go to your reception at the British embassy tomorrow.” He blows out a breath. “In fact, just stay quiet and try to get through the evening without causing a major diplomatic incident.”

  “Sure thing,” I tell him. “That shouldn’t be too hard at all.”

  ***

  The diplomatic car and driver pull up to the UK’s embassy to Belgium and its Permanent Representation to the EU. It’s an unassuming office building next to a park, which has this huge portico-looking structure in a U shape at the top of a hill. I walk into the office building, behind Hristijan, Lara, Erika and Lucija. My little cousin looks excited to be there, and the older one looks like she’s been dragged. She talks on her phone.

  Lucija brings the phone down from her ear, tapping the end call button on the screen. She looks back at me. “Well, what a surprise. The Bruxelles Ville and Ixelles police say there’s no evidence of there being a rally in the Tour et Taxis warehouse two nights ago.”

  We walk up the stairs.

  “I’m telling you, they were there beheading people. There’s got to be some traces of blood, or DNA or something. Maybe have the Molenbeek police check. Their jurisdiction starts just across the street, right?”

  “It doesn’t work like that. Quit making things up to justify your misadventures with those student guild guys. The three of you do nothing but waste time and cause trouble,” Lucija complains to me.

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m trying to warn you, Croatia’s liaison to the EU for counterterrorism, that the city is at a huge risk…”

  We walk through the main doors of the embassy. I’m surprised at how crowded the room is. Sir Jonathan’s voice booms over the gathering, interrupting us. “Ladies and Gentlemen, a warm welcome for our guest of honor.”

  A round of applause goes around the main ballroom of the embassy, which is packed with people in formalwear. They part to reveal where Sir Jonathan is standing on the room’s opposite side in front of an EU flag, as well as a British flag, a Belgian flag and the old Federal Yugoslav one with the red star on it. I stand there as the clapping continues, not sure how to react. My feet take me toward Sir Jonathan. He grips my hand and smiles. A few camera flashes go off before I realize what is happening.

  The other guests go back to their conversations as I stand there.

  Hristijan runs off yelling, “Erika, that is President Juncker of the Commission. Don’t talk his ear off about who you get along with at school.”

  I keep standing there a bit awkwardly and look at Sir Jonathan. “You arranged all of this for me?”

  “Of course. I thought that it was only right we do something like this. All of Europe should be excited to have the Maršal of Yugoslavia here in its capital. We are all expecting you to accomplish a lot now that you are here.”

  “Right.” I sigh.

  “I heard that you discovered an extremist rally with beheadings up near Molenbeek. I’m sure the police’s failure to find anything was simply incompetence on their part. Congratulations on uncovering it, Maršal.”

  “Thank you.” I glare over at Hristijan and Lucija, as I wonder how Watson found out about that. Apparently, whoever told him didn’t give him the memo about the UKIP collusion part. I reflect that, without knowing where Watson’s real allegiances are, it might not be wise to tell him, either—for all I know he is involved in it. “Some people think I’m making the whole thing up,” is all I say.

  “A shame. I assure you that I am not one of them. Enjoy your evening.” He moves off among the guests. Lucija walks back over to me. She leans against a wall and looks like she is planning to spend the rest of the evening like that, staring at her phone. She looks at me like she can read my mind. “Don’t let all this pomp and ceremony go to your head; it’s not like you’ve done anything to deserve it.”

  I try to shove her comment away. I have done something to deserve it and no one, including her, will do anything about it. I sigh, walk over and get a glass of wine, from where they’re already poured and placed on tables to the sides of the room. I try to make small talk with the various guests, some of whom I recognize from meeting them with Hristijan and others who I don’t know but assume are pretty high up.

  I’m about to go for another glass of wine when I vaguely note that Afrim is in the ballroom. I do a double take to confirm that it is indeed Afrim. He’s dressed in what looks like a brand-new suit. I walk over to him, feeling grateful for the chance to finally have a real conversation with someone I actually know. I’m also really confused.

  “Afrim, don’t take this the wrong way, but how did you get in here?”

  He hunches his shoulders. “I came with Drago. It turns out that the best part of these things is all the free booze.”

  I agree with him about the wine, but that doesn’t answer my question. “How did Drago get the invite?”

  “He came with Emilija. She was the one who got the invitation, because of who her dad is.”

  “Who’s Emilija?”

  Drago walks into my field of vision in an equally new-looking suit. His arm is around this petite brown-haired girl. I guess that this is Emilija and it only takes me about two seconds to decide that I don’t like her.

  “How did you two meet?” I think I manage to keep my expression unreadable.

  Afrim cocks his head at me and speaks before his brother can. “Emilija almost ran him over with her SUV a few days ago.”

  “What?” I feel a sudden rush of concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m great.” Drago tightens his arm around her. “Emilija’s father is one of the most successful Bosnian refugees there is. He’s agreed to give the guild the funding we need, for Saint V’s Day.”

  “Isn’t that great?” Afrim prompts when I don’t respond immediately.

  “Yeah, great,” I manage as enthusiastically as I can.

  “Is there something wrong?” Drago asks.

  “It’s nothing. I told Hristijan and Lucija about what happened the other night at Tour et Taxis. The police didn’t find anything. Now they think I made it all up.”

  As if he just overheard me, Sir Jonathan walks back up to our group.

  “So Maršal Marković, how are you enjoying your evening?”

  “It’s, um, pretty cool, I guess.”

  “In light of what your friends told me you discovered a couple of days ago, have you given more thought to my proposal to allow more intensive screening of EU citizens entering the UK?”

  “No. Like I said, that would just make the hard border between the rest of the EU and the UK and Ireland harder. It would also make enlarging the EU to include all of the former Yugoslavia more difficult. We need to address the problem here, at its source. We shouldn’t allow what I discovered to tear the EU apart.”

  Watson doesn’t hesitate for a second. “And how exactly are you going to tackle the problem here, when the police can’t even be convinced it exists?”

  “I, um…” That’s when I see him across the room, the Brit who was there at the rally. I make a snap decision and point to him. “Sir Jonathan, there is something you need to know. That man was present at the beheadings.”

  Watson’s response is complete and total disbelief. “What? I’m afraid that is quite impossible. Nigel Farage is a member of the European Parliament. While, he is one of the masterminds of the UK’s referendum on EU membership and not exactly someone I would call a political ally, supporting Islamic terrorism is the opposite of what he stands for, I assure you.”

  “I know what I saw.” I’m about to head over and confront him when an explosion rattles the entire building. A few screams go up from the people in the gathering.

  I run toward the explosion, down the stairs in the hallway, before Hristijan can stop me. The doors to the building are gone, and so is part of the wall. The police show up. I stand there, in a corner of the stairwell landing, as all of the dignitaries get evacuated. L
ucija and the cops sweep the building for more bombs. There aren’t any.

  Lucija’s phone rings again. She isn’t on it long, before she brings it back down by her hip. “Damn it. Daesh just took credit for the attack.”

  Sir Jonathan steps up beside me a few moments later. “I assume your mentor’s daughter has informed you of who has taken credit for this bombing. It’s only a matter of time before they start going after Britain; by attacking the embassy they already have. We were lucky that nobody got hurt or killed this time. I really must have your support for getting Brussels to allow the UK to increase screening of the EU citizens entering its borders to acceptable British levels.”

  I look at the exploded doorway. It hits me. What Farage is trying to do is make Europe look unsafe so Brits will support leaving the EU. If it looks like the EU won’t let the UK protect itself, I could be playing right into UKIP’s hands, whether or not Watson is in on it, too. The embassy bombing was probably just to draw attention away from the fact that Daesh and these Brits are colluding.

  Hristijan must see my expression change. “Elena…” he starts to warn me.

  I ignore him as I turn to Sir Jonathan. “Okay, I’ll give you the support you’re asking for.”

  Sir Jonathan practically crows. “Brilliant, the reporters are starting to show up to cover the bombing. I suggest we address the press together.”

  Hristijan rubs the bridge of his nose. Sir Jonathan and I walk over to the blue and white police tape that keeps people from getting any closer. A pack of reporters hold their microphones out to us. Sir Jonathan begins.

  “This gathering was called to honor Elena Marković, officially the newest member of Croatia’s diplomatic delegation. We are glad to report that no one was injured in the explosion. However, as a result of this attack, Ms. Marković, who happens to be Maršal Tito’s granddaughter, now agrees with my position that the UK will not be safe unless Brussels allows its Border Force to screen EU citizens who are not British more intensively. That is true, isn’t it?”