The Untouchable

by Gerald Seymour

The convoy from the airport to Mostar was three cars, and a fourth joined there. It was all shit . . . He had been on his mobile eleven times and the boy, Enver, had not been found.

  He made the rendezvous. He watched the Russian and the Turk, not leaving their cars, peer with distaste at the Italian in his car. Small scorpions could be found in the dry hills in summer between Mostar and the coast, and it was the habit of local men to catch them, not wearing gloves for fear of damaging them, then to build a little prison for them of concrete blocks, let them fight, and wager big money on the outcome . . .

  Ismet Mujic would not have bet on the Englishman.

  His car led and, enveloped in the dust trail, their cars followed.

  Mister walked, and Atkins stayed at a distance behind him.

  Back at the Mitsubishi was the Eagle, who had said his feet hurt in his shoes. They'd left him, with his shoes off, massaging his feet. Atkins, seeing the Eagle's spindly white ankles, had wondered how the man managed at rough shooting over the fields, which he claimed he did. The vehicle was parked outside a big modern hotel, spotlessly clean, money lavished, about the only building Atkins had seen in Mostar that wasn't war-damaged. He'd never reached Moslar when he'd served his twin UN tours.

  Mister had led and Atkins had gone after him.

  Mister had gone off into the Muslim quarter on the east side of the city, down cobbled, shaded streets beneath overhanging balconies, and he'd paused lor a long time at the great gap where the Stari Most bridge had been. Atkins could remember when it had been brought down by explosives - on his second tour. The Croats had blamed the Muslims for an act of international vandalism; the Muslims had blamed the Croats for a war crime on a world heritage site. There were two workmen there, and a sign said the bridge was being rebuilt with Italian craftsmen and UNESCO

  funding. Mister gazed down into the tumbling water below the gap the old bridge had spanned. Atkins thought his face was serene, calm. Had been ever since they'd arrived in the city.

  Mister's eyes never left the water of the Neretva.

  Atkins said, 'You know, Mister, kids used to jump off here for the tourists, dive off the old bridge, then crawl back up and get paid for it.'

  Mister interrupted, his voice still and quiet, 'Can I tell you what's valuable, Atkins? It's time . . . time to focus, concentrate and think . . . Understand me, Atkins, I don't give a shit about whether kids jumped off here. I don't give a shit about this place, anything of it, anything of their war. You ever interrupt me again and it'll be the last time, because I'll have sliced your yapping tongue out of your mouth. You with me, Atkins?'

  Atkins reeled. Mister's face never changed. The serenity stayed.

  Mister leaned on the rail and stared another minute at the water. He turned, the affable smile on his face.

  'Right, Atkins, I reckon we'll be late there, and that's just right. Let the bastards wait, I always say. Let them s w e a t . . . You all right, Atkins?'

  'Of course, Mister.'

  The beacon led them from Mostar. They had been through a village marked on the map as Hodbina, a place of scattered homes, small tended fields and grazing livestock, and women worked with hoes and spades on vegetable patches. It was off the main road south to the coast. Smoke came from the chimneys, but diffused into the clean skies. A road, part tarmacadam and part steamrollered stones, took them on, until the beacon's pulse led them to a track veering right off the road, and they saw the fresh tyremarks. It was wild country; the cultivated fields were behind them. Old rock was scattered over the ground and clumps of thorny scrub had found shallow rooting. The sun beat down on it. Joey had slowed. The two pick-ups went by him. They stopped ahead then turned, and reversed into a small wood of dense birch, using a rutted path. He followed and parked beside them. Maggie Bolton went to the back of the van, opened its door, winked at Frank, then dropped her skirt to her ankles. She reached inside and rummaged, lifted out her pair of old jeans and slipped them on.

  The dog, Nasir, was freed from his cage and allowed to wander in the trees, lift his leg, then was leashed.

  They went into the depths of the trees.

  The guns were cocked. Salko, Ante and Fahro carried Kalashnikovs, and Ante's had a night sight screwed onto the top of the barrel. Muhsin had a pistol at his belt alongside a big water bottle and the leash in his hand. The dog had a dried, weather-desiccated bone in its mouth. They were in front.

  Frank lugged Maggie's box of magic tricks. She walked with Joey. They went towards the brightness where the sun hit against the last line of the trees. At the edge of the wood they looked down and saw the house.

  The track with the tyremarks ran down the hill in front of them and reached an oasis of green. There was a rich garden around the house, clawed back from the stone and the scrub. Sprinklers played over it and made small rainbows. Four Mercedes cars were parked on swept gravel in front of the building, along with the white Mitsubishi. It was Spanish hacienda style, with walls of white stucco and closed shutters covering the windows. A carrion crow soared above it and cried gratingly. Two men, dressed in black, worked on the cars - but not the Mitsubishi - polishing away the roads' dust.

  Frank was beside him, and murmured, 'Now we're here, can I ask something?'

  'Ask away.'

  'What are we here for?'

  Joey thought before he spoke, as if an immediate answer eluded him. Then said, 'To force mistakes.'

  'Yes, yes - OK, very funny man. I'll say it slowly - what do we hope to achieve by being here?'

  Joey shook his head slowly. ' I don't know.'

  'Wait a minute, steady down,' Frank said evenly. 'If you want to play this out, don't mini! me there are six of us here, and you. You must have an idea where this is going?'

  'Regardless of whether you'd come, any of you, I'd have been here.'

  Frank stared at him, brow furrowed, and the scratch was in his voice. 'Tell me, if you'd be so kind, what is there that I should know?'

  'All you need to know right now is that Judge Delic has withdrawn the authorization for intrusive surveillance on Target One.'

  The hiss. 'So, it's not legal, any of it? Jesus - you picked a fine time .. .'

  Joey looked away, back to the house and the men cleaning the vehicles.

  'Are you stupid, an idiot? What are you? No legality, can't gather evidence, can't put anything before a court, no time for handcuffs. Why are we here?'

  'Because I gave my promise to follow this man wherever he led,' Joey said, as if that answer was adequate.

  They scrambled down the slope towards the fence that hugged the green of the oasis. Joey saw that the dog never lost hold of the bone. The sun was at its zenith and threw their shadows down under their bodies. They closed on the fence. When one of their bodies, or the dog's paws, caused small stones to cascade down, they all froze, then went on when they saw that the two men had not broken from the work of cleaning, the cars. A dozen paces from the fence there was a gully and they sagged into it. Muhsin poured waler sparingly into the dog's throat. Masking them from the house was a flat stone, storm-smoothed.

  Down on the earth, pressed close to him, Frank murmured, 'You know what? Obsession is dangerous for health yours and ours.'

  ' I gave my promise,' Joey said, open-faced.

  It was, the Eagle recognized it, Mister's finest hour.

  He did not apologize for his lateness. That they had waited for him was obvious from the used plates and dirty knives and forks on the table, the colter cups and glasses beside the empty water bottles. There had been no hint of apology. Effortlessly, he had created an atmosphere of an equal among partners. They would have fidgeted, cursed, they would have queried the arrangements of Ismet Mujic, they would have listened for the crunch on gravel of the late arrivals'

  vehicle. 'Don't bend the knee to them,' Mister had said, as the front door was opened for them. 'Let them know it's their privilege to be meeting us.' It was high risk, the Eagle had thought, but Mister always won because he always risked. The
y'd gone inside, into the dim cool of a wide living room, and Mister had, per-functorily but with charm, shaken their hands. 'I'm Mister, and this is my legal adviser, Eagle, and I have also brought with me my associate, Atkins. They're fine men, both of them, and as committed as I am to the principles of honest business dealing.' He had been asked by Ismet Mujic if he wished to eat, and had brusquely declined. He had then belittled Ismet Mujic. 'Now, Serif, has this room been scanned?' It hadn't . . . Mister's eyebrows had been raised fractionally in surprise, and the others had gazed at him in a marginal moment of suspicion. Mister had nodded to Atkins. Atkins had left the room. Radios had started to blare through the ground floor of the building, and upstairs. Mister had said nothing until Atkins had returned, then Mister had pointed to the stereo system in the room; that had been turned on, volume up. 'Now can we get to work.' Then he had snapped his fingers at the Eagle and Atkins and had pointed to the table. They'd started to clear it, the Italian began to help, then the Russian and last the Turk, and Ismet Mujic was shouting towards the kitchen for his people, but by the time they came the plates were stacked and the cutlery gathered together, and Ismet Mujic was further belittled.

  'We need, my friend, a cloth to clean the table.'

  When the table was cleared and wiped, Mister sat down. With the Eagle and Atkins, he took one side of the table, made the living room into a board room with him playing the part of chief executive officer.

  Mister had said, the last thing before they'd hit the gravel in front of the house, 'We find a room with a table, we sit down one side of it. We do not take off our jackets or loosen our ties. We are not slumped in easy chairs. We are in control - they are bloody lucky to have us.' They sat opposite. They were casual in dress and posture, and their jewellery dripped from them. The contrast was powerful, as Mister had wanted.

  It was the nearest he would come to an apology in that finest hour. ' I regret that I do not speak Italian, Russian or Turkish. Neither do my colleagues. I hope we can manage in the English language.'

  They gazed at him impassively.

  'That's taken, then. Two things I want to say first. I am grateful to you, Serif, for making this meeting possible. I appreciate that it has not been easy for you to bring together three gentlemen with differing schedules, all important. You have, Serif, my sincere thanks.' The Eagle wondered whether they had carried guns into the house. Atkins had left their own weapons in the Mitsubishi, as Mister had instructed, and each of them during the introductions had, offhand, flapped back their jackets to show they were not armed, as Mister had ordered. ' I work on one strong principle that is not negotiable. My word is my bond.

  I make a deal and I guarantee that, to i he best of my ability, the deal is carried through, and the "best of my ability" is good. Serif will tell you that I have done a deal with him and that the promised monies are now lodged in his account in Nicosia, as I said they would be. You will all have associates in London. You will have checked with them. You will have asked about me. You will have been told that I am a serious player. So, gentlemen, do I have your attention for my proposals?'

  The Eagle could not decide which of them had the cruellest eyes.

  'You will allow me to give you my evaluation of the common factor affecting all three of you. In London you do not fulfil your business potential - you fall far short of what could be achieved. That's where I can help, where I can make a difference in your profitability.'

  The Italian had the youngest eyes, but there was no sparkle in them to match his smile.

  'You bring in, Marco, product from Venezuela and Colombia, but your difficulty is getting it into the European marketplace. I suggest you ship direct to the ports of Montenegro, then take a series of options.

  You can handle the product yourself and use the Adriatic bridge to Italy, or you can avail yourself of the lorry network I will be setting up in Bosnia. It can be used to move your product either east or north. If you wish it, and your product goes to the UK, I will make available to you the dealer and distributor infrastructure that I already have in place. You will meet with no competition, you will not have to fight a turf war because I will be your ally and no man in London will fight against me. The market will be cleared for your use. That's what I'm offering you, Marco, and I would like you to consider it carefully.'

  The Russian had narrow, slitted eyes, and the bags under them were puffed.

  'As I understand it, Nikki, you and your colleagues make a great deal of money, but that's where your difficulty starts. What to do with the money? I anticipate that you will find it increasingly hard to use the facilities of Russian banks in New York, Cyprus or Hungary. Those banks are going to come under intensive law-enforcement scrutiny. To maximize the return on your hard-earned profits, you need access to legitimate banking. That's the City of London. I can provide you, for a most reasonable fee, the opportunities to rinse through the City, through introductions. No more grey hairs, stress-free banking

  . . . In addition, you are engaged in people-trafficking, but it's chaotic and amateurish, and too many of your people consignments go down because you do not have the expertise of .1 British partner. I can be of help

  - a n d I can help with your automobile trade, and your weapons trade. London is not merely a major street-market, it is also .a name. London is respectability. The name of London opens doors, as you will find if you take up my offer, worldwide.'

  The Turk had small eyes, set close together, and they squinted.

  'Thank you for your patience, Fuat. You're a big man. Where you operate you are king, except in one area. I handle your product. I'm at the end of the line, but in Green Lanes. I am buying the product you have purchased, refined, then shipped on for importation into the UK. The importation is where you are not king, far from it. I read my newspapers, just as I am sure you read yours. Not a month goes by without the interception of a consignment of product at the British ports. Naturally, you rely on Turkish transportation -

  Turkish lorries and Turkish shipping. The cargo on such lorries and ship containers attracts the greatest attention. Payment is on delivery, so if the importation is busted you don't get the money. I am suggesting that you deliver into Sarajevo, that Sarajevo is the transit point for both of us. A blind donkey can bring the product into Sarajevo, any lorry with any plates can get through, and that's where you'd be paid. It's less for you, of course, than for importation direct to the UK, but it's less risk. I can use British-registered lorries with British passport-holders driving them, and they're waved through when your transport is stopped, searched. With due respect to you, nothing gets a Customs man's nose sniffing faster than a Product of Turkey stamp on a cargo consignment of ceramic tiles or oranges or whatever you want. What you gain is money, what you lose is the headache and the hassle. That's my proposal to you.'

  The smoke of their cigarettes made a wall along the middle length of the table and watered their eyes, but they stared at Mister unblinking.

  'I've done my deal with Serif, and I'm very happy with the terms agreed. I can predict with confidence that he is going to be a good friend to me, like a brother . . . Each of you three gentlemen had influence in the running of this country, and I believe that influence will grow as the foreign powers withdraw. I intend to operate here, and I am asking for your co-operation, your partnership, in our mutual self-interest . . . I'd like to take a break now. In the break you, Marco, Nikki and Fuat, have a chance to think over what I've said and to decide whether to take it further. If any of you decide not to, then, please, feel free to back off, and leave. If you feel you wish to move ahead, into those new areas of product profitability that I have outlined, then I will talk detail and percentages. Would a fifteen-minute break be satisfactory? I want to settle it at this session, I want to wrap it up.'

  He stood, smiled briefly, then went to the door, Atkins and the Eagle in his wake.

  It had been Mister's finest hour, a masterclass. He'd heard it all before, of course, but there had been no mere par
rot's recitation of the Cruncher's vision. It had been softly spoken persuasion, and never an interrupt ion, never a yawn. They were the Cruncher's words, but only Mister could have spoken them into the cruelty of those eyes.

  'How did I do?'

  They were the courtiers. Atkins told him he'd done well. They knew their lines and meant them. The Eagle said he had been magnificent.

  'Christ, I fancy some fresh air, away from that bloody cigarette smoke.'

  The dog, Nasir, played up, was whining, and Muhsin tried to soothe it. Joey didn't know why they'd brought it. He sat cross-legged on the flat stone in front of the gully. He had the camera slung round his neck, with the big lens attached, and beside him was the dish with the antenna probe, but Maggie had said all she could hear was music, at least four sound sources, and the radios cluttered up any chance of voices. She'd said that if she'd been in her workshop she might have been able to clear the music off the track and get to hear the voices, and he'd said that she wasn't in her bloody workshop but on a bloody hill in Bosnia, and she'd chucked the earphones off her head.

  The sun was down over the hills in the west. When the darkness had come, Joey had gone onto the flat stone, as if that was escape from them, and from the dog. He didn't know when Frank had told her, hadn't heard him whisper the name of Judge Delic.

  The dog wriggled on its back behind him and Muhsin whispered to it, and Joey heard his fingers scratching at the dog's belly.

  Joey knew everything about the dog, and the dog's name. Muhsin had thought he'd be interested, when they were in the gully, to know the history of the animal and its name, and Frank had tediously translated.

  'He was the best fighter that came out of Muslim Bosnia, better than any of those who were generals or brigadiers, better than Serif. Nasir Oric held Srebrenica for three years. If he had not been there it would have fallen months before the end, perhaps years before. He was a natural leader, only twenty-six years old when he took command of us. He had been a bodyguard to Milosovic in Belgrade, but he came back to us when war was inevitable. He called his men the "manoeuvre unit" and his own weapon, he carried it himself, was a fifty-calibre machine-gun.