by Henry Porter
Samson was sure that none of the men from Syria were fluent in Serbian. ‘Anything else you remember about them?’
Andrej shook his head. ‘No, but I do have a place for you to sleep. It’ll cost you twenty euros.’
Samson agreed, but it was a long time before he was allowed to leave the party. Glass after glass of booze came his way. He took to moving the glasses in front of the pudgy-faced man from Milwaukee and they were soon emptied. At eleven, Andrej showed him to the loft of an old barn, a little way up the hill behind the village. The place was dry, though far from draught-proof. It had running water, a basic camp bed of canvas and metal rods, one dim overhead light and a picture of Mihailović, the Second World War Chetnik leader, printed on cardboard which had curled up with damp at the bottom.
He checked his phones for messages and emails before putting both on charge and going to bed.
*
They set up camp in the late afternoon and Naji, eyeing the black clouds that had appeared in the west, stretched his plastic sheet between the trees. It began raining at seven, well after they had collected enough dry firewood for the night and heated water for tea and eaten what little food they had left. Ifkar quickly cut some boughs to shield them from the rain on the summit side of the shelter and Naji diverted a rivulet running into their camp by using several flat stones. The rain stopped two hours later and they stoked the fire and watched the sparks shooting into the night air.
They slept well but were disturbed at first light by Moon, who had got up and was standing between them with hackles raised, emitting a low growl. They peered into the dark forest but couldn’t see what she was looking at. Ifkar reached up to stroke her, but Moon shifted a few paces forward, the better to concentrate on the thing that was bothering her. Ifkar left his sleeping bag and told Naji to pass him his stick, which he rapidly began to sharpen into a spear.
‘What is it?’ asked Naji.
‘Maybe a wolf.’
With the stick sharpened, Ifkar crouched by Moon. Naji put on his trainers and also moved to Moon’s side.
‘Something’s out there,’ said Ifkar. ‘I heard it just now.’
Naji strained to listen, but he heard nothing above the wind in the trees. They waited, saying nothing. Moon’s growl was now punctuated by a whine and a nervous shake of the head, as if she could not quite decide whether to charge into the undergrowth or stay to protect them. Then she was silent and they both heard the noise: the tread of something taking its time to move across the slope below them. From behind it – to their right – came another sound, of a lighter creature scampering across the forest floor. Trembling all over, Moon began to ready herself and barked three times. Ifkar rose, holding the stick over his shoulder like a javelin. In his left hand he gripped the short kitchen knife that he used for everything. Naji took his throwing knife from his pack and readied himself for the attack. Nothing happened. Then in the light of the fire, which had flared into life after being poked vigorously by Ifkar, they saw a huge, pale brown face, with two darkened eye sockets and round ears, peering at them from between two low boughs. The bear regarded them with a mild interest, neither aggressive nor fearful, studying them until a smaller face appeared by its side, at which point it growled and shoved the cub away with its snout. It sniffed and pawed the ground, then looked up again and raised its head to scent them better. Moon responded with a charge that was quickly aborted when the bear moved forward and took a swipe at her. Ifkar launched his spear at the bear and struck it between the shoulder blades, without the slightest effect. The spear slid harmlessly to the ground. The bear moved forward a couple more paces, close enough for them to see the snot coming from its nose and smell its pungent, earthy odour.
‘What are we going to do?’ shouted Naji.
Ifkar reached behind him and seized one of the flaming logs with one hand. Naji grabbed another and they threw them together. The logs cartwheeled through the air in a shower of sparks. Ifkar’s hit the bear on the top of its head while Naji’s landed at its feet and sent up a burst of flame that caused the bear to leap backward and let out a wounded roar. But still it would not go. Then, with both hands, Ifkar picked up the largest log, which they hadn’t been able to break into smaller pieces to feed into the fire. Holding the flaming end out in front of him, he began to march towards the bear, with Moon and Naji following. The bear was now beginning to show signs of doubt. It shook its head violently, perhaps wondering at the smell of burned hair. It jumped backwards, lifting both front paws, and finally turned tail when Ifkar charged at her screaming.
Suddenly the bear and her cub were gone, and they didn’t even hear their retreat down the mountain. Ifkar stood with the flaming log for a few moments, then turned and gave Naji a sheepish smile, which Naji did not return because he was so utterly overwhelmed by the experience. He sank to the wet ground and shook his head, repeating, ‘It was so big.’
Ifkar came over and pulled him up by the hand. ‘Come on, you’ll get wet down there, Naji. There’s still a little sausage left and I have a cigarette.’
They sat by the fire. Ifkar lit his cigarette and Naji took a couple of drags, which made him feel heady but not as nauseous as at Idomeni. They talked excitedly about the bear’s eyes, its huge teeth and claws and the foul odour it left behind. Moon wagged her tail and danced about the camp, as though to take credit for vanquishing the enormous creature that had come out of the forest. Ifkar and Naji both agreed that while she’d baulked at attacking the bear, Moon was undeniably responsible for saving their lives and deserved the end of the sausage.
They struck camp and arrived in the village two hours after the confrontation in the woods with the bear and its cub. They did not stop talking about the incident in all that time, and the prospect of buying some food and seeing civilisation, however rudimentary, had put a spring in their step. Moon was also full of the joys of being a dog with two doting masters and ran ahead, occasionally chasing red squirrels.
Until they passed a woman carrying a large bundle of faggots on her back who waved a stick at them, they were unaware how dirty and dishevelled they looked. They noticed a disused washhouse that was covered in ivy and brambles standing by a little Orthodox church. Inside they found a bench, a stone slab for pummelling clothes and, more importantly, a trickle of mountain stream water coming from a spout that was covered in limescale. A frog sat on the slab, eying them, until Ifkar stripped off his clothes and flicked his T-shirt at it. Naji cleaned himself as vigorously as if he were about to attend prayers, while Ifkar took great care in washing his feet with the soap given to Naji at Gevgelija – he said his feet and trainers smelled worse than the bear. They hung around waiting for the store to open, which it did for two woodsmen who arrived on a narrow-wheelbase tractor with an exhaust funnel. One sat on the drawbar at the back with his legs dangling and a small chainsaw across his thighs. Naji and Ifkar followed the men in and heaped food and cans of beer and soft drinks into a wire basket, having first shown that they had money to a young woman with very large breasts who was in the process of clearing up the bar at the back of the shop. They went back to the washhouse, where they reckoned they could eat breakfast in peace, for the woman and the two woodsmen were giving them suspicious glances, which made Naji eager to leave the village.
While they ate, he took out the map and started to plot the next stage of their journey to the Serbian border, but Ifkar wanted only to talk about the storekeeper’s breasts and did not seem especially interested. Naji argued that it would be safer and quicker by the mountains, and anyway, they would have the option to join the road in the next valley if the weather worsened. Ifkar nodded but kept looking out of the washhouse at the storekeeper, who was sweeping dust from the shop into the road.
They chose the mountain route, which led them out of the village and up a grassy lane, also taken by the woodsmen on their tractor. Whereas the first hills they had walked through were mostly cove
red with conifers, the trees on the lower slopes of this mountain were deciduous, with autumn leaves of gold and sometimes blood-red. Neither had seen anything like it before. Naji remembered the phone he had stolen, which still had a lot of power in it. He pulled it out and took a picture of himself with Ifkar and Moon against the foliage. When he found a place with reasonable reception, he emailed it to Munira with a short note telling her about his new friend and the dog. He added his new number and a request for hers.
Thirteen
Samson wasn’t hungover, but he had slept fitfully and was not entirely awake when his satellite phone sprang into life at the bottom of the camp bed, where he’d left it on charge.
‘Yes,’ he said, noticing that there was no caller ID, a sure sign that it was London.
‘Is that you?’ demanded Sonia Fell.
‘Yes.’
‘It doesn’t sound like you. Where are you?’
‘It’s hard to explain – how can I help?’
‘I’m calling because I know you talked to Chris Okiri after I spoke to you yesterday and that he gave you certain help in regard to Firefly’s phone that was counter to the Chief’s express wishes. You didn’t tell Chris that you’d spoken to me and that you had been stood down from this project.’
‘That, surely, is not my fault,’ he said sharply. ‘I assumed he knew. Internal communications are not under my control.’
‘Of course he couldn’t have known. We had only just agreed the situation with the Macedonian government, who are actively searching for the boy.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay what?’
‘You’ve bollocked me, now you can get on with your day and I can get on with mine.’
‘Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m telling you to go back to London and forget all about the boy. Forget Firefly.’
‘Yes, I heard, but it can’t have escaped your notice that I’m no longer working for the Office and that you’re not in a position to order me anywhere.’
‘But you can confirm for me that you’re not searching for the boy.’
‘I am not confirming anything of the sort. Let me remind you that what I’m doing is the subject of a private contract, which has nothing to do with you or your masters.’ He had in mind an arrangement with Denis Hisami, which he could easily fix with one call, although it didn’t exist at that moment.
‘That makes no difference. We want you out of the country.’
Samson said nothing.
Fell cleared her throat and continued, ‘I should perhaps tell you that intelligence now suggests that Firefly was witness to and may have taken part in atrocities carried out by Al-munajil’s group. We believe he is a killer, Paul, and we now regard him as a serious security risk, which is why the Macedonian police are pursuing him. That’s their end of the operation – dealing with the boy.’
‘Honestly, do you believe that?’
‘I have to believe the intelligence, Paul.’
‘You’ve got video?’
‘I’m not aware of any, but these young boys all end up brainwashed and killing for their masters.’
‘Does that make him any less the victim?’
‘We’re not child psychologists, Paul. We’re involved in a massively important security operation. The boy has led us to the terrorist cell – that is what we needed.’
There was no point arguing. ‘Well, I hope that’s all working out,’ he said.
‘Thank you for that. Now I must ask you not to contact Jamie O’Neill or Chris Okiri or anyone else on this matter. As far as you are concerned, this is all closed – the boy no longer exists.’
‘Fine,’ he said, reaching for his trousers. Fell before breakfast was a fucking nightmare – thank God he’d never been to bed with her.
‘And we will need the phone you have in your possession,’ she said crisply. ‘Can you be sure to drop it at the British embassy before you leave Skopje, preferably today?’
‘I’ll see what I can do, Sonia.’
‘You’re stalling, Paul. Please, just do what the Chief asks.’
‘If that’s all,’ he said, now weary of Fell’s manner as well as her bloody ambition. ‘I’ll say goodbye and go and find something to eat.’
He washed in ice-cold water, dressed and slung his bag in the car before heading to the store. He reckoned it would be an hour or so before Naji and his companion descended into the village from the spot where he had seen the dog, and it would be easy enough for him to watch their progress from his observation post at the panorama. He needed to be there soon, but knew absolutely that he was not going to repeat the experience of the previous day of starting the day without coffee. Fell’s call had already put him in a poor mood. What she had told him did not make the slightest difference to his desire to find and help the boy, for he had always recognised the possibility that he was dealing with a child soldier. Naji’s closeness to the monster who was named after a machete implied this.
He found Andrej drifting around the back of the bar with a pipe stuck in his mouth, distractedly picking up glasses and putting them down again. Samson bought some coffee and a couple of flaky pastry rolls filled with cheese and watched him while sipping his hot drink. He ordered a second cup and went to the door to light a cigarette and look at the mountains, heartrendingly beautiful that morning – golden foliage and bare, pale rock, glowing softly in the early morning light. The moment was disturbed by the woman who’d served him erupting with a scream of dismay, which brought Andrej hurrying to the front of the store to stare at the shelf in question.
He turned to Samson. ‘Your two young migrants were here this morning. My sister says they stole some things.’
‘Chocolate?’ asked Samson.
Andrej looked surprised. ‘Yes, how did you know? Chocolate bars and cans of beer. They had a dog.’
‘That’s them. What time was this?’
Andrej consulted his sister. ‘An hour ago. She says they followed the Nikolov brothers, who work in the forest up the track.’ He pointed north.
‘I’ll pay for the items they stole,’ said Samson, thinking that Andrej might report the crime and it would give the police a precise location for Naji. He handed him twenty euros for the night in his barn and twenty-five to cover breakfast and what the boys had stolen. Then he asked Andrej to show him the route they had taken and was led to a paddock above the barn. The view was good, and using his binoculars he quickly found the two figures and the dog. They had left the forest and were on open ground, moving purposefully across the side of the mountain, their heads bent to the wind. Instead of bounding ahead, the dog walked a little behind.
‘Must be cold up there,’ murmured Samson. ‘How far do they have to go until they can drop down into another valley?’
Andrej shrugged. ‘Depends which route they go. Perhaps no more than a day’s walk to Pudnik.’
Samson took out the map from his side pocket and folded it to a manageable size.
‘The ground gets higher here,’ said Andrej, his finger on the map. ‘They can die there from cold if they do not have more clothes. Even now it is very low temperature, and at night . . .’ He flipped his hand as if waving out a match.
‘They must be making for Pudnik then. How far is that from here by car?’
Andrej nodded. ‘An hour, maybe more.’
Samson found them again with the binoculars. The gap between the lead figure and Naji and the dog had grown larger. There was no sign of Naji flagging; it was probably that his stride was shorter than his companion’s. Then something else attracted Samson’s attention, way off to the right. He moved the binoculars and focused on two figures in dark clothing who appeared to be following the same route as Naji and his friend.
‘Are these the brothers you mentioned?’ Samson said, handing the binoculars to Andrej.
It took a while for Andr
ej to find them, and then he shook his head. ‘No, that’s not the Nikolov brothers – they go nowhere without a tractor.’ He looked again. ‘Could be the two men who came into the store yesterday. They both wore dark clothing.’
‘Everyone wears dark clothing,’ said Samson. He took the binoculars from Andrej and felt for the satellite phone with his free hand. He dialled Vuk. Eventually he answered.
‘I need that number now,’ said Samson roughly.
‘Is problem.’
‘Have you got the number?’
‘No, he want more money.’
‘How much?’
‘Five thousand euros.’
Samson thought quickly. If the Macedonian authorities were indeed searching for the boy, the policeman was taking a risk in not reporting his phone stolen, because it could be used to pinpoint the location of the boy. So perhaps he could be justified in demanding such a large sum.
‘Did the cop say anything about a big police operation to find the boy?’ he asked, still holding the binoculars with one hand and tracking the men moving steadily up the slope.
‘No, he say nothing.’
‘How did he react when you mentioned that place he took Naji?’
‘He say nothing. He don’t give two shits. He fucking policeman.’
‘Okay, call Denis Hisami’s people in ten minutes, by which time I will have spoken to him. I know he will help with the money. It’s vital I have that number as soon as you get it, so text or call me when you can. Then I need you to meet me at a village called Pudnik tonight. You can find it on the map.’ He repeated the name of the village a couple of times, then hung up and turned to Andrej.
‘So this is really important?’ said Andrej.
‘You could say that. There are a lot of people who want that little guy dead because of what he knows. Any idea how I can get up that mountain quickly?’