by Mike Maden
With any luck, the police would respond quickly. Violent crime was virtually unknown in the area, and cops didn’t have much to do, especially this time of night.
The milky-eyed man couldn’t take the chance that the girls might die from their injuries or exposure before they were found, or that somehow they might fatally harm themselves trying to get back to human habitation. They might even be tempted to commit suicide after such humiliation.
No, that wasn’t acceptable at all. The plan required them to survive. He was confident the police would arrive in time, and the girls would be found, and their stories told so that the whole country would know what had happened to them tonight and, more important, who had done it.
The man with the milky eye had no regrets about the suffering of the two girls, even though he had three daughters of his own about that same age.
After all, what he had done was for them.
12
LJUBLJANA, SLOVENIA
Jack had spent eight days on his ass, his nose buried in financials and spreadsheets, three days longer than he’d planned. That would cut his search time in Sarajevo down to just three days, but he thought that might be enough. Gavin had generated a list of potential Aida Curićes, including those who had married and changed their names. Sorting by age and other factors had shortened the list considerably. Tracking them down wouldn’t be a big deal.
Jack’s office window overlooked the parking lot and another glass-and-steel building in the Technology Park, each of the last eight days marred by dark clouds and rain. Struna offered to take him on a walking tour of the small but charming Old Town, where cars weren’t permitted, but he confessed it was mostly restaurants, bars, and small retail shops, so Jack politely passed. He’d rather spend the time finishing up his work as fast as he could, but he would allow himself one day to tour the Julian Alps with Struna, hoping that the weather would break by then.
He woke up sorely disappointed. It was still raining.
The night before, Struna took him to Pop’s Place in the Old Town because Jack was craving an American-style burger and, frankly, so was Struna. The place was hopping with locals and tourists, with a friendly and animated staff. He and Struna sat at a communal table next to a quiet Belgian couple and a group of rowdy Aussies. The huge selection of local craft beers was amazing and tasty, especially the Bevog Ond smoked porter, an Austrian brew. The grass-fed Slovenian beef burgers were pretty damn good, too.
“You did a great job for us, Jack,” Struna said, his red-rimmed eyes smiling, as he hoisted an oatmeal stout.
“You’re gonna be a billionaire,” Jack said, toasting his friend. “But you better get some shut-eye. You look pretty beat.”
“No rest for the wicked, right?” Struna smiled and finished his beer, then paid the tab, and the two of them headed for Jack’s hotel.
Jack was hardly surprised when his phone rang at five-thirty that morning. Struna’s clogged voice apologized. His wife and kids were sick and he wouldn’t be able to take Jack to the mountains. Besides, it was still raining.
“But if you still want to go, you can take my car. I preprogrammed the GPS for you last night and left a guidebook on the front seat.”
“If you don’t mind, sure.”
He felt awkward borrowing the man’s car, but what the hell else was he going to do? Stay in his hotel room and watch reruns of Say Yes to the Dress with Slovenian subtitles?
TRIGLAV NATIONAL PARK, SLOVENIA
Struna’s BMW was a joy to drive and, fortunately, Slovenians drove on the right side of the road, for which Jack was grateful, given the twenty-four hairpin curves he traversed on the narrow road to the top of the highest point in Triglav National Park.
The good thing about the rain was that almost nobody else was out but crazed mountain bikers and he seemed to have the place mostly to himself.
He listened to an audio guidebook he’d downloaded onto his iPhone the night before. This high country was hallowed ground in many ways, part of the four-hundred-mile “third front” in the holocaust known as the First World War, where invading Italian troops battled the forces of the Austro-Hungarian Empire to seize Slovenia for Italy. Jack passed battlefield cemeteries crowded with thousands of men cut down in their youth, and innumerable Catholic churches perched on seemingly every hilltop, bastions of faith that also served as fortified positions during foreign invasions.
It was hard to imagine the brutal tragedy of that mindless conflict in the middle of the stunning beauty of these snow-capped mountains covered in pines. According to the guidebook, the mountains had been utterly scarred and stripped away of all vegetation after four years of industrial warfare. But a hundred years later, the forests had returned, and the mountains, as always, remained.
Jack tried to imagine fighting in these steep, unforgiving mountains in the depths of winter under constant artillery barrage, hunkered down in frozen trenches or charging up the craggy heights into the teeth of withering machine-gun fire. No wonder more than a million men bled and died in these mountains. And for what? The flower of Western civilization had perished on these stony slopes, and in the fields, swamps, and forests of a thousand other battles all across the continent.
And for what? Jack asked himself.
For what?
No wonder the Europeans feared nationalism, Jack thought.
As he finally reached the top of the road and the magnificent view of the Triglav mountains, the audio guidebook reminded him that this was also Hemingway country. The Julian Alps were the setting for his famous novel A Farewell to Arms, though the eighteen-year-old ambulance driver never actually served in the region.
Jack parked the car, pulled up his jacket hood, and headed out into the misting rain for a look-see, following the paper map in his hands. Despite the weather, he was anxious to get out and stretch his legs and breathe cool, fresh mountain air again.
It was so worth it.
He followed the muddy path to the top of the hill, where an abandoned concrete structure stood. A bunker? Maybe. But the walls weren’t thick enough and the window frame was too large. Something else, then. The audio guidebook said that it was part of a tram for hauling hundreds of tons of ammo and supplies daily through the chain of mountains, dismantled for parts after the war.
Jack turned his attention to the view before him. The magnificent, snow-dusted “three-headed” Triglav was the tallest link in a chain of jagged limestone peaks piercing the wide, cloudy horizon. Jack stared in rapturous wonder at the enduring power of the timeless mountains before him. It made him feel clean somehow, especially after the human filth he’d experienced in Dallas and the human trafficking ring The Campus had helped break up.
He felt no guilt for killing evil men, but he didn’t exactly feel like a righteous man, either, standing in this place where so many other men had died so long ago.
He took another deep, cleansing breath of the crisp mountain air. The bad memories receded in the spattering rain that washed over him in the quiet solitude.
No wonder the prophets of old went to the mountains to pray and commune, Jack thought. This place felt, well, holy.
Something from catechism bubbled up in his memory. El Shaddai. Wasn’t that one of the Hebrew names for God? God Almighty—the God of the Mountain?
Hard to believe that such butchery could happen in a sacred space like this. The sins of empires had drenched these mountains with innocent blood. It was a kind of blasphemy.
Jack spent the next twenty minutes exploring the hilltop area, where he found a few other manmade remnants from the war. But for the most part, Nature had prevailed, and there was little evidence that any murderous humans had ever defiled the sharp contours of her magnificent body, or scarred her lovely face.
13
NEAR KOBARID, SLOVENIA
Struna had promised him that the hike to the Kozjak waterfall was well wort
h it, a real showstopper. He crossed the Napoleon Bridge high over the deep chasm of the Soča River and passed through the small town of Kobarid on his way to the trailhead. His was the only car in the lot save for a mud-spattered Jaguar parked on the far end bearing Italian plates.
The rain was still falling, not so heavy as to keep him out of it, but strong enough to still keep the tourists away, which was fine by him. He enjoyed the solitude, and when he found his thoughts drifting back to Yuki or Ysabel, he easily put them out of his mind by taking in the stunning views around him, not the least of which was the surging Soča River. Struna’s guidebook featured the same photos he’d seen on the Web—a translucent turquoise, like a flowing gem.
But as he stood on the narrow hanging bridge that spanned the wide chasm, the rain-swollen Soča was altogether different today—opaque, and light green, like liquid mint. It was no less impressive and certainly beautiful. He supposed it was the rain that was washing limestone and other minerals into the otherwise crystal-clear water.
He took in the view, thankful for the solitude but mostly for the sense of awe and wonder the river and mountains inspired within him. What was there to fear in a world with this much beauty?
Jack checked his iWatch. It was getting late. He needed to push on if he wanted to get to the falls. His weather app said more rain was on the way, but no telling how much. At some point he would have to beat a retreat if the storm got too bad here in the mountains, and he was still two hours away from Ljubljana.
He crossed the bouncing bridge and worked his way up the rough-hewn trail, following close to the surging tributary Kozjak cascading down its own sharp chasms in the midst of the trees until he reached a narrow wooden walkway spanning the river and hugging a wall of rock.
He stepped up onto the first plank and worked his way carefully along the slippery boards in a curving ascent in the steadily falling rain. Even with the rain spattering his hood and the river roaring over the rocks, he could hear the surging falls ahead. A few steps more and he entered a towering cathedral of wet, green granite opening up to a small, gray sky. The roar of the waterfall was nearly deafening now. One boulder jutted out along the wooden pathway like the corner of a building. Jack couldn’t see around it, but he knew the end of the walkway was near. He eased his way around the huge, slippery rock.
To his surprise, someone was already standing at the end of the platform. A woman in a green rainsuit stared up at the bridal veil of falling water tumbling from the lip high above. Strands of wet, blond hair spilled out from beneath her hood. A heavy daypack tugged at her shoulders, amplifying her curves.
Jack’s weight on the rickety platform caused her to turn with a start.
“Oh!” She gasped, her eyes wide like saucers.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to . . .” Jack held up his hands in mock surrender. “I mean, govoriš angleško?”—Do you speak English? He had to raise his voice in order to be heard above the thundering echo of the falls.
The woman sighed and smiled prettily, obviously relieved. “Yes, of course I speak English.”
Jack couldn’t place the accent. She didn’t sound like the Slovenians he’d been listening to for the last week. Obviously not a native English speaker, though. “Good. My Slovenian is terrible.”
The woman nodded up at the surging water tumbling from above. “Isn’t it magnificent?”
Jack turned to look, his irritation at not being the only person here soothed by the beautiful image in front of him and the gorgeous young woman beside him, now nearly touching his shoulder with hers.
“Wow.”
She smiled. “I thought I was the only one crazy enough to come out in the rain to see this.”
“It’s unbelievable, and we don’t have to fight the crowds.” He looked down at her, just a few inches shorter. She filled out her rainsuit pretty well, in all the right places. Her eyes were fixed on the falls, filled with childish wonder.
“Can you imagine being the first person to ever see this?” she asked.
“It’s the first time I’ve seen it, so I can sort of relate,” Jack offered clumsily.
She looked up at him, smiling. “First time here? Congratulations.” Her smile faded. “Perhaps you want to be alone, then?”
“Uh, no. It’s fine. I mean, please stay, if you want to stay.”
She smiled again. “Yes, I would. I just arrived.”
They both gazed back up at the falls. Jack lost himself in the moment, mesmerized by the natural wonder of the scene before him. The ancient rock and the endlessly flowing water felt pure and eternal in the dark, isolated cavern. It made him feel both small and finite, yet also alive and connected to the world around him.
Her voice broke his trance. “It’s getting late. I should be going.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Since Jack was closer to the exit, he led the way out, traversing the big corner boulder, then working his way back down the walkway. He felt her steps just behind him, sure and steady.
When they reached the trail, Jack turned to say good-bye, but the woman interrupted him.
“Perhaps since this is your first time here, we should celebrate a little?” She tapped one of the straps of her daypack. “I have a little wine and sausage, and some cheese, if you like. Nothing special, but it’s a kind of tradition, I think.”
Jack had never heard of such a tradition, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. He was hungry and a little wine wouldn’t break his heart, and the mischief in her smiling eyes suggested the promise of something very interesting in the near future.
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
She beamed. “Excellent. I know just the place. Follow me.”
The shape of her amazing body was evident even in her rain pants, and she moved with an athletic agility. Jack felt a familiar hunger. The woman was ruggedly beautiful, and the situation unfolding felt refreshingly familiar.
In his sophomore year, he’d had a torrid sexual encounter with a girl in a forest like this one, though it was warm and spring. They both had quite a crush on each other after that, but a summer internship took him across the country, and the two of them lost touch. When he came back to school in the fall, she had a new boyfriend. Jack hadn’t thought about her in years. A pang of longing suddenly shot through him. Amy was awesome. Another one that got away.
The blonde led him off the public trail, which they still had all to themselves, and onto a narrow path that cut deep through the trees about twenty meters until they reached a small clearing. Jack felt a surge of lust and larceny welling up inside, and he tried halfheartedly to push it away. After all, she was just offering him a picnic, right?
In the middle of the clearing stood an old weathered park bench beneath an overhang of branches that provided a degree of shelter from the rain, which had suddenly stopped. Clearly there was no one else around and the woman felt comfortable enough with him to bring him to this place. A small plastic ice chest stood on one end of the table.
The blonde pulled off her pack and set it on the bench next to the ice chest, then motioned for Jack to take a seat.
The bench seat was wet, but Jack was wearing waterproof pants. He swept away a tiny puddle of rainwater and pine needles before sitting as the woman unzipped her pack.
She pulled out a bottle of white wine and handed Jack a corkscrew. “If you don’t mind?”
“No, happy to.” Jack jammed the bottle between his thighs and grabbed the corkscrew as she set a styrofoam cup on the tabletop.
“I only have one cup. Is that okay?”
“That is so okay,” Jack said as he stripped away the foil from the top of the bottle, his eyes focused intently on the task.
The woman reached into her pack again, and out of the corner of his eye Jack saw her pull out a finely hammered blade, no doubt to cut the cheese and sausage. She drew the knife out in a singular, deliber
ate motion, the muted sunlight glinting on the highly polished steel.
The gleaming blade flashed high in his peripheral vision. Jack twisted his upper body just as the razor-sharp tip sped past his left shoulder, the right-handed strike clearly aimed for his heart. Before Elena could draw it back for a reverse slashing cut across his throat, Jack seized her wrist in his right hand and yanked it back across the table, throwing her off balance despite her surprising strength. That didn’t keep her from launching a punch at his face with her left hand, but there was no leverage behind it and she managed only a harmless glancing blow to his temple.
Jack drove all of his weight onto her trapped arm, hyperextending her elbow with a sickening crunch and twisting her wrist with both of his hands, snapping ligaments and separating the carpal bones from the ulna. Her hand released the knife and it fell into the wet grass.
Elena’s face was close to his, and her wounded yelp barked in his ear. But the yelp morphed into a raging snarl and she lunged at him with an open mouth to bite his face. Jack swung a heavy elbow into her jaw that snapped her head back, giving him enough time to raise the same arm up and drop a crushing hammer blow to the side of her skull with his fist, slamming her head into the mossy wood, knocking her out instantly.
He leaped to his feet, gasping for breath, his body surging with adrenaline and fury.
What the fuck just happened?
14
THE MONTENEGRO–BOSNIA BORDER
The Happy Times! eight-passenger van pulled to a stop a few meters in front of the one-lane trestle bridge to let the southbound Volkswagen coupe with German plates exit, its tires thumping on the wooden planks. The white-haired driver snarled in aggravation, raising a withered hand to shield his eyes from Emir’s headlights. Without so much as a thank-you, the old man gunned the engine and sped away.