by Fritz Galt
“To put it mildly,” Mick said.
Coleen entered the room. “Tea and biscuits?”
The tea ritual momentarily calmed Mick down. Yet he remained far from relaxed. “I’ve got to identify these men.”
Coleen set her cup down. “I believe I know those two men at the hotel. They work directly for the city council. They also act as an enforcement arm of the mayor’s office. In short, they ride roughshod over the local police authority.”
“Are the council or mayor closely connected with Belgrade?” Natalie asked.
“Our gloomy little town provides power for most of Serbia. Therefore, Belgrade’s primary interest is the dam, not local politics.”
“Why would local politicians worry about us?” Mick said. “Someone has to be directing them.”
Jack leaned back and sipped his tea. “The most likely suspect is our beloved mayor. We might question him.”
Mick stood up. “I’m ready.”
Coleen’s eyes flashed up. “You can’t just—”
“Why not?”
“We can’t be associated with—”
Mick approached her. “For the past two weeks, a combination of Yugoslav federal officials and underworld characters have been threatening, mutilating and killing Western diplomats who get too nosy. We got too close to a bagman, and they killed our doctor. I don’t want you to be next. Natalie and I began to investigate the Karta, which was stolen and redrawn as a prelude to a Yugoslav invasion of Macedonia, and they take potshots at us. At this juncture, we’re facing a country that’s putting on its war paint, and we think we’ve identified the key players behind the aggression. They run up through the entire chain of command in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the church and possibly as high as the Presidency. If we keep pressing and find and implicate whoever is covering up this plot, we might be able to stop a war. Now, we may have to break a few taboos to do this, including introducing ourselves to your mayor.”
Jack stood up and buttoned his sweater. “I suspected there was more to this. Coleen, it’s time to say good-bye to this town.”
She stood and glanced around the room at the small number of personal effects. “I’ll pack up what I can.”
Jack shook his head. “We’ve already prepared our most important valuables for just such an event. Get the bags and I’ll put them in the boot. We’ll drive to the mayor’s residence at once.”
Coleen rushed to the back of the house and reemerged with two suitcases.
Mick turned to Natalie. “To the mayor?”
“To the mayor.”
Jack extinguished the light and they all left.
Jack’s Jaguar was parked in a former gardening shed. All four of them piled in and Jack gunned the engine. Mick watched the fuel indicator creep to the top of the dial.
“The mayor’s house is across town.” Jack steered through the silent back streets of Kladovo, past hulking steel garbage bins and overgrown bushes that spilled out onto the street. “His name is Drugovic. He’s a socialist. Communist at heart. I imagine he has friends in Belgrade.”
He slowed to a stop and pulled off the road. “That’s the house.”
“And that’s a Belgrade plate,” Natalie said.
A black Mercedes was parked in front of an otherwise modest house that probably passed for a villa in that part of the country.
“Wait here. I’ll look around.” Mick tried to muffle the click of his revolver in the front seat.
“Be careful,” Natalie said.
“Prepare to take off if there’s trouble.”
He slipped out of the car and eased between shrubs alongside the one-story house.
His impulse was to approach a lighted window. Instead, he froze and let his eyes adjust to the objects outlined by the light. A minute later, a head bobbed slightly then jerked up. It belonged to a guard slumped dozing against a tree.
Mick slipped over the carpet of pine needles and approached the man from behind. He reached out and touched the man’s shoulder. There was no immediate response.
Mick felt for a gun and found a revolver in the man’s shirt pocket. He removed it without disturbing the man. Sweet dreams. Continuing toward the window, he engaged the safety and slipped the revolver into his pants pocket.
The still air was suffocating, and as a result, someone had swung the windows outward. Moths fluttered in and out of the room.
Mick stopped behind a broadleaved tree and strained to hear the voices inside the house. He caught the thread of a conversation between two men.
“Look, we’re still searching for them,” an exasperated man said in heavily accented Serbian. “My men have their Jeep, so they can’t be far.”
“Bane is clear on this.”
To Mick’s surprise, it was Inspector Stojanovic, who had just helped him get back into the country.
The inspector went on. “No matter what, the Americans are not to leave this country alive.”
So the inspector was a turncoat. He didn’t want Mick to help solve the Macedonian situation. He wanted Mick and Natalie dead.
“What did these foreigners do?” the local, perhaps the mayor, demanded.
“What does it matter? They infiltrated the Serbian State.”
Then Mick heard a third voice speak with a low growl. “And on Gypsy Island they attacked my partner, who already had stiches on his forehead.”
“The important thing is what Bane wants,” Stojanovic said.
“What does Bane have to worry about?” the MUP agent said, still growling. “I’ve been following this couple for weeks. They’ve led me to some interesting finds. People are trying to steal Karta. I need the Americans to find out where this case is leading. Why would Bane want us to stop this investigation?”
“Don’t question our boss’s intentions. He gets word straight from the top.”
“So we find the couple, dispose of their bodies and close the case.”
“Where was the case leading?” the local asked.
“Macedonian nationalists,” the inspector spat out.
“Strange. Why would Bane drop the investigation?”
“I thought the Americans were onto something, too,” the inspector said. “In fact, I even pursued the case to Budapest. Imagine what I discovered.”
“What?” the MUP agent said.
“Macedonian nationalists have redrawn the borders of Karta.”
There were some expletives, then silence.
Finally, the MUP agent spoke. “It’s over my head. Bane knows what he’s doing. He told us to stop them. So that’s what we’ll do.”
“You’re right,” the inspector said. “That’s why we’re here. Na zdravlija.” He offered a toast to life.
“We’ll stamp out the vermin,” the MUP agent said.
The men toasted each other again.
“You find them and bring them to me,” the local said. “My police force will get rid of them for you.”
“No,” the MUP agent said. “The pleasure will be all mine.”
Mick took a deep breath. He put a foot on the windowsill and jumped into the room. “No way, buddy.”
The three men teetered back in their chairs. It took a moment to realize that they were looking at the very foreigner they wanted to kill.
Mick scrutinized their faces.
The MUP agent had an arm in a sling, but leaned toward a semi-automatic pistol on the table. Mick waved him off and snatched the pistol.
Inspector Stojanovic sat uncomfortably in a business suit.
Mick turned to the third man, a grouchy, overweight thug. He bore the unhappy expression of a host whose party had just been ruined.
“You’re going to help us get out of the country, alive,” Mick told the three. “Bring the keys to your Mercedes.”
Mick directed the three men out the front door and onto the dark street.
He saw Jack jump out of his car to join him.
“Get back in your car and lead us to the hotel,” Mick called. He maneuve
red two men into the Mercedes’ front seat and hopped into the back with the inspector.
The mayor drove behind the Jaguar, his puffy jowls rippling against the barrel of Mick’s gun.
“Who ordered you to find and kill us?” Mick demanded, burrowing the barrel deeper into the flab.
“Orders from Belgrade,” the mayor said. “Those dogs have beaten us down for years.”
“So what gives you the right to destroy my car?”
“I don’t know anything about your car.”
“Like hell you don’t,” Mick said between clenched teeth. He would rip the man’s windpipe out if he could. “Who ordered you to kill us?”
Next to Mick, the inspector said, “I’m afraid it’s the MUP that ordered you killed.”
“Who specifically?”
“His name is Bane Djukanovic. He’s Deputy—”
“I know exactly who he is. He’s the one who killed our doctor and the artist in Szentendre. And he’s the one you didn’t shoot on top of the castle in Budapest.”
The inspector went suddenly quiet.
Not only had Bane mutilated the Karta and squelched the press about the massacre of Serbs in Macedonia, he had ordered the case closed.
They reached the hotel and rolled to a stop beside the Jaguar.
Mick rolled his window down and tossed his keys through Natalie’s open window. “Sweep the glass out of the Jeep and follow us to the dam. We’re leaving tonight.”
“How can we make it across the border?”
“Easy, with a little help from our friend, the mayor.”
She looked at the men in the car, then turned her attention to the duo who stood stiffly by the hotel entrance. “How about those two?”
“Hold on. I’ll get rid of them.”
He breathed into the mayor’s ear. “Order those men home or I’ll paint this parking lot with your brains.”
“Drugovi,” the man roared out his window. Comrades. “Go home. The search is over.”
“Tell them there’s no pay tonight because they destroyed US Government property.”
The mayor repeated it out loud. The men kicked up dust.
“Now tell them to leave.”
“Go home. Now.”
The men caught the conviction in his voice and ambled off.
Mick watched his wife slip out of the Jaguar and circle the Jeep. Using the brush end of a snow scraper, she dusted glass off the steering wheel, dashboard and front seat. What a cool customer.
She eased into the car and turned the engine over. When she was ready, she gave him a thumbs up.
“Okay, now take us to the dam,” he said to the mayor. “You’ll help us cross into Romania.”
The three cars pulled out of the parking lot. The MUP agent sat sullenly beside the mayor, who was driving. The inspector seemed inquisitive.
“Why are you leaving the country?”
“I’m afraid we’re no longer wanted.”
“What gives you that impression?”
“I heard your conversation at the house. It’s clear that Bane wants us eliminated.”
“If I had my way, you’d go free. I’m worried about the Macedonian nationalists.”
“The Macedonian nationalists are a handful of crazies. What could they possibly do against your army, tanks and air force?”
“Everyone wants to molest us. Serbia is the victim.”
“Why do you people keep saying that? Is that the only thought that helps you justify your atrocities? Maybe if you’d stop the self-pity, you’d see a little clearer.”
“We saw the evidence. The Macedonians have Karta. The artist told us that they’ve redrawn our borders.”
“Don’t you see that it’s all part of Bane’s plan? He wants to provoke the Serbs into attacking Macedonia. He wants Macedonia.”
The inspector had no response to that.
“Why else would he want the case closed?” Mick said.
“Bane doesn’t have the imagination for such a scheme. He may be my boss, but he’s a blundering fool. It’s somebody else.”
“Of course it’s somebody else.”
“The MUP has been left in the dark.”
“You’ve been investigating your own man.”
The inspector shifted in his seat.
Had Mick finally gotten through to someone? The inspector seemed a methodical man. It was only a matter of time before the man’s detective’s instincts kicked in.
Mick pursued his opening. “You smelled something wrong and followed me out of Yugoslavia in order to track Karta down. Then you saw him helping the Macedonians as they tried to drive away with the map. Now you tell me that you suspect that someone with more brains than Bane must be behind this. If you want to solve this case, you’ll have to find out who that somebody is. For starters, Bane is working with Zoran.”
“Zoran Rodic?” the mayor said.
“Yeah,” Mick said, digging the gun further into the man’s neck. “What do you know about Zoran?”
“I know his father,” the mayor said.
“Of course you would. Do you deliver his bribes to the Romanians to let the oil barges through?”
“Bribes? What bribes?”
The mayor probably skimmed off a good portion for himself.
Mick knocked the man’s cranium with the butt of his revolver. “Do you deliver his bribes?”
“Well, yes—”
“Okay. Then shut up and drive.”
He turned back to the inspector. “Bane and Zoran are leading the drive into Macedonia. Nobody pulls Zoran’s strings. But somebody pulls Bane’s. I need to find out who that is, stop him and get some evidence.”
“I wouldn’t mind if Bane resigned tomorrow, but I am worried about where this investigation is leading.”
“It’s not where this case is leading. It’s to whom.”
“If this goes higher than the MUP, it’s no longer my business.”
“I can tell you right now. It goes higher than the MUP.”
“Then it’s out of my hands.”
“Are you scared of the truth?” Mick said.
The inspector didn’t respond.
Mick pulled a pen from his pocket and flipped it onto the inspector’s lap. “How do I get in touch with you?”
The man found a receipt on the floor of the car, and wrote his name and a Belgrade number on the back of it.
“Think about it, inspector,” Mick said. “I’ll contact you later.”
“Here’s the dam,” the mayor said with obvious relief.
“We’re all going to cross it together,” Mick said. “Is the guard on the lookout for us?”
“Why would he—”
“Because you told him, you idiot.” Mick yanked the bushy head of hair. “Now stop this car. You’ll drive the Jeep.”
The three cars veered onto the shoulder, and Mick waved Natalie to come out of the Jeep.
“Hand me your passport,” Mick told the mayor, and slipped it into his pocket.
Natalie came up to his window.
“Here’s a pistol I found at the mayor’s house,” he told her. “Take the mayor in the Jeep, but have him drive. He’ll be me. Here’s my dip passport. It may get you two through enemy lines.”
She hesitated before taking the semi-automatic pistol and passport. “Since when can I shoot a gun?” she whispered to Mick.
“Since right now. Just pull the trigger.” He shoved them into her hands. “Now, ask Jack and Coleen if they can join us.”
She whirled around and prodded the mayor away. “Just pull the trigger,” he heard her repeating to herself.
She paused by the Jaguar and spoke to Jack and Coleen, who nodded their consent. Then Natalie forced the mayor to sit behind the wheel of the Jeep.
Mick shoved the gun up against the MUP agent. “Now, you drive.”
“I can’t. I have a broken arm.”
“You’ll have two broken arms if you don’t drive.”
The MUP agent slid behind the w
heel of the Mercedes. His good arm was his right arm, and he had no trouble starting the car and beginning to drive. Out the back window, the Jeep and Jaguar fell in line.
They advanced slowly on the giant, well-lighted dam. A lone guardhouse stood at opposite ends of the 150-meter stretch of earthworks that spanned the Danube at its narrowest point, the Iron Gates of the Carpathian Mountains. The guardhouse flew a Yugoslav flag with its blue, white and red horizontal stripes and imposing red star in the center. Atop the guardhouse on the far side, a blue, yellow and red Romanian flag hung limp in the stillness.
As the Mercedes reached the wide, paved dam, Mick felt the vibration of water flowing through turbines beneath him. Electrical cables as thick as a man’s arm crackled overhead. Generators droned under the gush of churning water.
The Mercedes stopped the red and white striped gate. A Yugoslav border guard leaned toward the agent at the wheel.
“What happened to you?” the guard said, indicating the agent’s left arm.
Mick wedged the barrel of his revolver under the agent’s right ear.
“Football,” the agent muttered.
“Red Star Belgrade or the Partizans?” the guard asked, then laughed. “Give me your passports.”
Mick handed over the three local passports. The agent started to object, but Mick ground a bruise the size and shape of his muzzle into the agent’s neck.
The border guard grabbed the three red booklets and flipped through the pages. He didn’t even glance at the passengers in the car. He handed the passports back and signaled the gatekeeper.
Inside the guardhouse, someone activated the gate, and the border guard waved them past.
“Stop here,” Mick said when they had advanced just beyond the guardhouse. The Mercedes pulled to the side and idled there.
Engineers working on the joint project had been overly optimistic about the prospects of brotherhood between their two socialist countries. They had fashioned the roadway over the dam into a four-lane highway.
At the far end of the lonely stretch, a Romanian guard stood truculently before his gate.
They were in a no-man’s land between borders. Officially, they were nowhere. No one respected their rights, or protected them.