by DAK
Chapter Fourteen
The procedures to follow when taken prisoner or hostage are fairly well known and standardized within the law enforcement and special operations communities. There are some variations on the theme, mostly due to the differences when operating in a military versus a strictly civilian environment. For example, in a civilian context, it is a bad idea to get taken from the primary scene. The only purpose in taking a captive somewhere else is to have time and privacy to do unpleasant things to them. This is obviously not in the captive’s best interests so the possibility of getting injured in an immediate escape attempt or resistive action is much less of a reason to not act as soon as possible simply because what is going to happen at the secondary scene is much, much worse. Of course, any resistance or escape attempt should be deployed with cunning and careful intent. Simply flailing away wildly in a panic does no more good here than in any other physical confrontation. Just another reason to obtain, maintain and sharpen the basic skill set.
In a military environment, however, it is often the case that the scene of capture is not exactly a crime scene and transport to another location, while not necessarily in your best interests, does not hold all the same issues as it does for a situation in the civilian world. Of course, escape attempts that are made as soon as feasible after capture are most likely to succeed but that is also when the opposition is most watchful. Hence the need to employ deception and create the impression of being weaker, less capable and properly cowed. Heroic posturing, defiance and ineffective struggles will only earn the macho man more attention and can quite possibly lead to a greater degree of confinement or a beating or other injury that degrades his ability to escape. So, the standard training says, put your head down, be the gray man, let your fear show, piss yourself if it helps and set the fuckers up. Don’t overplay it either. Just give the people what they want to see and above all be consistent. It will take time for the impression to set in. In the meantime, watch and keep the fear at bay by collecting all the data possible on your captors. How many are there? What weapons do they have and what do their handling methods indicate in terms of skill and training? What indicators are there of nationality and allegiance? Who else is a prisoner? Which of your captors appear as possible points of human contact, someone with whom you could form a personal bond, however slight, which might aid in your escape? What route are you taking and in what transport? Is there anything in your immediate environment which might give you a chance to attempt an escape? The sense of uncertainty and fear of the unknown will be working hard on any captive. Collecting useful information and working toward a goal will help one handle this normal emotional response. Above all, trainees in hostage survival are taught to keep repeating to themselves, I will survive. I will escape. And if it helps, I will have revenge. Everyone needs a reason to live. A person taken hostage must review theirs and set them in the forefront of their thoughts. These and other mental drills will keep their mind occupied instead of spinning in shock and confusion. In this situation especially, the mind is indeed your primary weapon.
The point of all this is that if done properly, the captive will appear less of a threat and is more likely to be overlooked for special treatment. Captors will focus naturally on the people who appear most likely to create problems, which means the opportunities for action will be increased for those who are deemed less of a threat. There is a lot more a good Survival Escape Resistance and Evasion (SERE) course will teach in terms of handling confinement, resisting interrogation and generally surviving captivity but it isn’t germane to this incident. My point is that a trained operator will act the exact opposite of any action star you’ve ever seen on the big or little screen. I needed to fade, reduce my threat signature and bide my time.
When it came, I would need to act unhesitatingly and with total commitment. I’d only get one chance, if any.
That chance came as we accelerated down the M1 and away from the main body of Skopje. Our driver and Oakleys had started a conversation as we pulled away from the safe house. It was in Serbian so I couldn’t follow but it seemed to involve the post-operational high and jubilation common to these events. I guess they hadn’t learned that the fat lady doesn’t come on stage until you are back at base, everything double checked and ready for the after action debrief. Celebration while still on the return to base is sometimes premature.
It sure as fuck was going to be this time, if I had anything to do with it.
Suede had been drawn into the conversation, turning gradually from his position sitting half facing me to one where he was mostly forward with the Glock and his wrist placed on the back of the rear seat. The muzzle if the Glock pointed roughly out the rear window. I glanced that way and was surprised to see that at some point the Lexus had turned onto a different route. It was no longer with us. As it had no immediate effect on what I intended to do, I mentally shrugged and carried on with my plan. This plan centered on the unprofessional placement of the wire tie restraints. When I had held out my hands to be cuffed, what looked like a gesture of submission was actually the first step of my preparation of the battlefield. My hands were in loose fists, a position most people naturally assume when holding out their hands to be cuffed and one that therefore draws no suspicion. I’d also had my thumbs touching. The effect of this, when the bad guy is using a single tie in a loop, is to increase the diameter of the wrist and arms. Now, with my hands below Suede’s line of sight and in the dark, I turned my hands to a praying posture, palms together. This created a gap, as the ties when they were pulled tight, had stopped at the wider distance of my wrists while pronated and tensed. It was simple to hold the left outside edge of the tie against my knee and pull my right hand free through the gap. Try it sometime; you’ll be surprised at how easily what appears to be a secure restraint is defeated. Of course, it helps if the opposition isn’t well trained and it was essential that I feign compliance so as to have the time and opportunity to slip free. I’d earned those and now, discarding the loop of wire tie from around my left wrist, I was ready and able to do something about my situation.
I checked the external environment quickly. No point in acting if it was going to send us over a cliff or into the river. We were driving down a deserted stretch of four lane highway, just outside the city proper and with only the occasional petrol station or farm house to be seen. Off in the distance were lights from small villages or farms but the immediate area was simply wide, flat fields separated from the highway by the chain fences common to highways in Macedonia. I moved quickly, bringing my hands up to clamp my left on Suede’s wrist while my right caught the barrel and slide of the Glock and wrenched it to point away from me and toward the inside of his grip. This put the pressure to retain the hold on the weakest part of his grasp, the thumb and forefinger. I kept the wrench going, not stopping and yanked the Glock up and back, out of his hand. I let it drop slightly, shifting my grip as I did and winding up with it securely in my right hand as Suede turned an astonished face, mouth open toward me.
Surprise, surprise, surprise. Say goodnight, Dick.
I leaned back, squinting to avoid the flash and blowback as I pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. Suede’s head jerked back as one round went through his open mouth, spraying the front of the SUV with bone, hair and brains. A small hole appeared beneath his right eye as the second round impacted and he slumped down, sliding across the rear seat. I didn’t wait but, still in a sitting position, twisted to my left and brought the Glock in a two hand grip across to target Oakleys. He was just beginning to react, jumping in surprise and leaning forward as he turned to see what had happened. I double tapped him in the head, seeing the front window darken with the spray. The driver was slamming on the brakes and trying to look in the rearview. The last thing he saw was my blood streaked smile as I shifted aim and blew out the back of his head. He dropped to the side, leaning against the door and the SUV jumped as it stalled out. We slid a short distance, partly sideways but slowing rapidly as our speed had alrea
dy dropped significantly due to the emergency breaking. The SUV bumped up against the snow piled on the berm from an earlier plowing. For a moment nothing moved, all was quiet.
At least, it was as far as I could tell. My ears were ringing in the high pitched way you get when there is damage. I doubted if I would be able to hear a jet taking off beside us just then. I shook my head futilely and shifted to a kneeling posture. There were still no signs of life from the other occupants of the BMW. A check outside revealed no other vehicles. I needed to move quickly. The rear door opened from the inside, something to remember if you get shoved into a rear hatch or trunk of a modern passenger vehicle. I rolled out into the snow, shivering as the wet flakes landed on my still nearly naked body. The first order of business was to make sure none of these mopes made like Jesus and came back from the dead.
A quick check showed all were ready for the long dirt nap. The BMW was full of the smell of feces and urine. This was the result of the bowels letting go when the body died. It happens sometimes if the internal conditions are right. Not pleasant but the least of my worries. I hastily stripped Oakleys since he was the closest in size to me. Luckily he hadn’t shit himself. His pants were a bit loose, his shirt a bit small across the shoulders and tight in the arms but roomy around the middle. His shoes and socks fit well enough although the Bruno Magli’s he was wearing weren’t my usual cup of tea. Still, beggars and choices and all that. I pulled on his leather coat gratefully and went through the pockets. It turned out that Oakleys and his comrades were all carrying cell phones and reasonable amounts of cash. There was no map clearly marked “hideout” or RV site and a check of the vehicle also failed to turn up anything. By now, a couple of cars had passed and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the police turned up to see why a vehicle was stopped by the side of the highway with one man pulling the clothes off another in the midst of an increasingly intense snowfall. Even the most jaded constable was likely to be curious about that.
I was stumped. I felt the adrenaline begin to fade as I stood, snow swirling around me and tried to think of what to do next. I couldn’t remember the Embassy phone number, not that they would have been of much assistance anyway. I had no idea where Enver was taking Aferdita or how to find out. I checked the phones but while several of the numbers were listed by recognizable names, none were Enver. Not surprising, as if I were a major player in the Serbian mafia I wouldn’t want my henchmen running around with my number clearly displayed in their phones. It was most likely one of the numbers that were unnamed. I checked all three phones and found two numbers that lacked names and appeared on all three phones. I tried them and the first was a female speaking Serbian, the second went unanswered. I was running out of ideas which became a moot point as I saw flashers approaching. I didn’t feel like staying to speak to the local representatives of law and order as that would mean hours of being held in a cell, questions I wouldn’t answer and possible involvement of the Embassy. That last was a major no no. I’d have to solve this on my own.
I shoved the phones into my pocket along with the cash from the wallets. I then gave the wallets and inside of the vehicle a hasty wipe with a scarf the driver had been wearing, did the same for the Glock I’d used, dropped it and grabbed a replacement and a spare mag from Oakleys. I jumped the fence and ran across the nearest field, aiming for the lights of a nearby village. If I got lucky I could find or steal a car and head back to my hotel. Once there I could shower to remove the blood and gunshot residue and change into my own clothing. Then I could use my own vehicle to find a suitable place to ditch Oakley’s clothing and anything else tying me to the shooting. I wasn’t sure how that would advance my finding Aferdita but at least I’d be able to contact DIA and let them know what had happened. With any luck they’d have the resources to track his phone or in some other way find where he had gone. Odds were she was there too.
I only hoped she was in one piece, alive and waiting for rescue.
It was hard but I shoved the fear for Aferdita away, cut it off from the rest of me and forced myself to focus. Right now evasion was the mission. Putting my head down I picked up the pace. I reached the back yards of a small collection of houses that fronted a narrow street which seemed to lead toward an intersection deeper in the village. A glance back showed the flashers slowing near where I thought the SUV was located. I had no time to waste and turned away, heading down the street toward the intersection. A handful of snow helped me get the blood off my face and hands. My instincts turned out to be right this time as I found the main square, or what passed for it in this little farming village. There was a café/bar near where I came out and a number of vehicles in the small lot beside it. A quick check turned up an Opel Kadet with the keys in the ignition. Hopefully the owner was in the bar, downing peach brandy and not planning to come out for a long time. I saw no one inside looking out or anywhere around. It’s not a good idea to involve civilians on a covert operation, something this had turned into, but I needed the car and a report of a stolen car would be treated with less urgency than one where someone reported an American asking for a ride into town and no explanation of how he got there. Especially when the police realized that this was near where someone went missing from a triple homicide. Of course, the same would apply eventually with the stolen car report but by then, I hoped to be in my own vehicle and heading away. And there would be nothing linking a foreigner to the scene. I slid into the driver’s seat and fired up the Opel. Thirty seconds later I was following my best guess as to the right road which led back toward Skopje.
The limited number of roads in the area played in my favor and I was soon back in the city. The area was one I recognized, Topaana, known as a rough part of town largely inhabited by gypsies. I pulled into a small weed strewn lot beside a dark, crumbling set of housing blocks. I wiped the keys, controls and door handle and then left the Opel, keys still in the ignition. I doubted very much if it would be there in an hour. Making my way on foot I reached a larger street where a passing cab decided to take a chance on the conservatively dressed guy waving him down. I didn’t want a connection to my hotel in case the Opel was traced to the dump site so I had the cab drop me near the city center. There I walked to another cab stand and had this driver take me to a location near the safe house. I explained that I just needed to see a friend quickly and would be right out. The cabbie agreed to wait, the fifty euro bill I handed him with the promise of a second probably helped. I turned up the collar of the jacket, wrapped the scarf around my head and neck and ducked down the walkway beside a house as if going to the back entrance. Once there I scrambled through the yard, out onto a side street and from there was looking at the safe house building within a minute.
Surprisingly, there was no sign of police. The area had been selected as much for its privacy as anything, the apartments were solid and sound wouldn’t travel out. Perhaps the neighbors had heard only a crash and then a scream or two and put it all down to a domestic fight. Those were not unheard of here and it wouldn’t be hard to dismiss such sounds when heard through the fog of sleep, especially if they were not repeated. Then again, the place could be crawling with cops on the inside. There were no new tire tracks in the snow however, which tended to point toward the safe house still being empty. I had to risk it in any case and made a circuitous approach, which kept me in the shadows until I entered the building’s main door.
The safe house door still hung drunkenly from one hinge. There was nothing to show that anyone had come or gone since I’d been dragged out. Moving cautiously, Glock up in a two hand high point, I pied the doorway and saw nothing alarming inside. I entered and made my way to the bedroom. There I bundled my clothing into a wad that I shoved into a pillow case. My watch went back on my wrist, cell phone in my pocket. I didn’t need to worry about sanitizing the place; there were no reasons to do so if I had not been here when Aferdita was snatched. And that would certainly be my story for now. I gave the place a hasty once over, found nothing that indicated my pres
ence during the kidnapping. The scattered chaff from the Taser lay on the floor but it would be seen as having been used on her. My plan, in order to keep the Embassy and everyone else clear, was to claim that I’d visited, had dinner and then left. I’d include the fact of having slept with her before leaving as this would be consistent with any evidence gathered and the admission, confirming a strongly held suspicion, would make the subsequent lie more easy to accept without questioning. I needed a free hand and no attachment to the events on the highway. I turned and headed out, pillow case stuffed under the leather jacket.
As I walked across the living room, my glance caught the remains of the Courvoisier and our glasses. The sheer emotion that hit me at the sight of what was until an hour or so ago one of the better nights of my life was unexpected. The emotional blow froze me in my tracks. Sure, I had no intentions of my involvement with Aferdita going anywhere. Yes, it was a onetime thing. But damn it, I really liked and admired her and now she was back in the hell she had left, one she had gotten out of at my urging and one she had felt safe from because of me. I knew rationally that I was not responsible for her current plight but most of me wasn’t listening. I fought a silent battle with myself which seemed to go on forever until I could force my emotions aside and be the cold operator I needed to be. Heading out the door I refused to look back. I was back at the cab in a few minutes, taking a direct route and letting the heavy snowfall cover my tracks. Fifteen minutes and another fifty Euros later I was at the Marriot. I went inside, nodded to the night clerk as if I belonged and took the elevator to the fifth floor. Here I slipped into the stairwell. There I changed into my own clothing and bundled Oakley’s into the pillow case. I took the stairs down, used a side door to access the parking lot where I dumped Oakley’s clothing out of the pillow case and into a dumpster. That done, I wiped and scattered the cell phones by throwing them into different snow piles before walking around to the front where I took a cab to the Four Seasons. It wasn’t perfect as the video cameras would show me entering and exiting in different clothing and my use of the side exit would be strange. Still, that would only be a problem if something happened to connect me with this location. That was very unlikely. If it didn’t happen within a day or two the odds improved as the video was probably reused every twenty four or forty eight hours. In any case, I had to dispose of the evidence tying me to Highway 1 which made the security footage a risk I needed to take. I pushed it out of my mind and moved on.
I was having to do that a lot tonight. It wasn’t getting any easier with practice.
I took a shower, scrubbing carefully to remove all traces of blood and gunpowder from my skin and fingernails. As I showered I considered my options.
They weren’t looking too good just then. I would, in all likelihood and assuming I got rid of the Glock I was still toting around, not be connected to the shooting. There was nothing to tie me to the safe house kidnapping either and my story of being there earlier but not when it occurred would be credible. The issue was that the Macedonian police would know someone had shot the guys in the SUV, someone who then felt the need to strip one of them before fleeing on foot. That indicated a prisoner and combined with the stolen car would give them an idea of a reasonably resourceful individual who didn’t want to speak with them. That would make it easy to decide the mafia had one of their own in the back and he’d escaped, killing his captors on the way. Not too far off the mark really. The apartment wouldn’t necessarily connect with the SUV, in fact there was no more reason to assume a connection with that than with whatever other random crimes were occurring that night. So the SUV and stolen car would be assumed to be mafia related crimes.
The events at the safe house would be seen as an unrelated kidnapping, at least initially. The Embassy would eventually be found to be the lease holder. Someone from the Embassy would then have to explain what had occurred. More likely, once a plan of action had been agreed upon, the Embassy would assign someone from the Regional Security Office to liaise with the police and explain things. That explanation would include Aferdita’s information. It would be hard to stonewall and say only that an asylum seeker had been staying there. The Macedonians would rightly want to know who and how it affected them and the Embassy would have no reason to damage relations with the host country. They would, no doubt, demand special classification and the political arm of the police would take over rather than the more mundane criminal investigation division. Still, the facts of Aferdita’s presence and her background would be available and it wouldn’t take Hercule Poirot to connect the death of several of Enver’s associates to the kidnapping of his former girlfriend. Whether that would lead to a conclusion that a rival group did both or something closer to the truth was anyone’s guess.
The real issue was that ambassadors and diplomats everywhere hate to have things like this connect to them as it upsets their apple cart with no benefit to their own interests. One of the reasons our intelligence agencies are so risk adverse is the quick reaction of most of the Department of State to toss intelligence folks under the bus if an operation goes wrong in any way. DIA was a bit more protected perhaps, but even so, they would take some heat, as it was their operation that had brought Aferdita here and their responsibility to protect her. InSol wasn’t involved since my remit had ended a day or so ago, but DIA would pretty quickly put together the facts that Enver had reason to snatch Aferdita and that someone else, whose actions displayed a certain resourcefulness and ruthlessness, had killed three of his people on the same night in circumstances that indicated said individual was also a kidnap victim. My name would head the list for who could that be now. Sharing this with the Macedonian authorities wouldn’t be likely as it would only create issues for DIA and no one wants to reveal information about their operations to anyone outside the circle of trust. And despite decent relations with the US, the Macedonians were not inside on this one. So DIA would figure out that most likely I had been present, had escaped with extreme prejudice, to coin a phrase, and had concealed the fact as it would otherwise put everyone in a difficult place. Their response would most likely be gratitude…we are, after all, supposed to keep our employer out of trouble and they would have complete deniability on this. No evidence would show I was involved and if DIA never mentioned it the Macedonians wouldn’t know. They’d know the US wasn’t telling everything it knew but since the victims were mafia they wouldn’t really care. I’d get some strange looks inside the beltway down the road when bumping into someone in the know but I was used to that.
The bottom line was that as far as attribution was concerned, the client, DIA and through them the USG, was covered. That was nice but it also meant there was no motivation to look for Aferdita. I suspected the response would be to hold off, do some cell phone tracing and otherwise batten down the hatches and take no action which might threaten to expose US involvement. This wasn’t good but as I had no leads and no likely assistance without DIA’s goodwill, I’d have to embrace the suck on this one. I couldn’t determine where Enver was without at least tracing his phone through the network, something DIA could do but I couldn’t. I needed them and could only hope they’d let me play along on this. This left the issue of how to bring them in without losing deniability. I sat in my hotel room and pondered this conundrum as the sun rose over Skopje. I wasn’t making much progress when I was interrupted by the ringing of my room phone.