by Thomas Ryan
‘Mrs Feime Berisha. I bring you a new client, Jeff Bradley.’
Feime rose and gestured at the chairs in front of the desk. ‘Please sit. New clients are always welcome,’ Feime said, switching to English. She paused while her visitors settled themselves. Then she sat too. ‘How I can help?’
‘Tomi Mema was representing Arben Shala. Mr Shala was killed in the detention centre a week ago.’
‘Yes, I heard. Very bad business. And now poor Tomi.’
Feime’s regret sounded sincere enough to Jeff’s ears. But the matter-of-fact expression on her face led him to the assessment that not a lot had got past Mrs Berisha when it came to Tomi Mema.
‘Arben Shala’s property has been in dispute,’ Sulla continued. ‘Yesterday the court was set to finalise a ruling in his favour. Tomi Mema was to have the documents notarised and turned over to Jeff on behalf of Mr Shala’s family. Unfortunately Tomi Mema was . . . taken to paradise before this could happen.’
Feime threw a quick glance at Sulla and picked up a pen and notepad. ‘Ah, yes. Peace be upon him. So. I will need a few details, Mr Bradley. Do you know which court and who it was Tomi was to meet?’
‘It was the Municipal Court. But no, I have no idea who he was dealing with.’ Jeff passed across the folder Morgan had given him. ‘These are the only documents I have. And there’s something else. Friends who are in the international police force told me the evidence against Arben was flimsy at best. In their opinion he should never have been detained. I would like to know why he was.’
Feime made a few notes then looked up. ‘I will go to the court later today and look over their file on Mr Shala. I will also talk with the chief prosecutor.’ Feime shifted in her seat with what looked to Jeff like a touch of embarrassment. ‘There is the matter of my fee, Mr Bradley. I’m sorry that you have lost your lawyer and the money you paid him, but I’m sure you understand I cannot work for free.’
‘No, of course not.’
Feime’s head went down again as she scribbled a figure on a piece of paper. She thrust it at Jeff. She looked relieved when he nodded and pulled out a handful of euro notes from his jacket. He counted several over to her. Feime made out a receipt and handed it to him.
‘Good, that is all in order.’ She handed Jeff her business card. ‘Get Sulla to call me at two this afternoon. I should have some news by then.’
Once again the events of the last twenty-four hours had Avni Leka mouthing a curse and thumping the desk. For Gashi to have had Tomi Mema shot in broad daylight and in a public place was madness enough. But to kill him before Bradley had taken possession of the documents that would have seen him out of their lives beggared belief. Now Bradley was bound to go find another lawyer. Someone not under his control. And that could only mean trouble. Compounding his problems even further, an international bomber who should never be setting foot in Kosovo was due in Prishtina at any minute. And because of Gashi’s stupidity the police and KFOR were on a heightened state of alert. His world was in a mess.
A knock on the door and a head popped around it. ‘Feime Berisha wants a quick word.’
Leka hesitated. As chief prosecutor his habit was not to see any lawyer without an appointment. But Feime Berisha’s husband had recently been elected into the new parliament. That put them both high on his list of acquaintances worth nurturing.
‘Give me a minute and send her in.’ Leka quickly tidied his desk, rebuttoned his shirt and adjusted his tie. ‘Feime.’ He smiled as she entered his office. ‘Please take a seat.’
‘Thank you for meeting with me at such short notice, Avni. I’ll try to be brief.’
‘I don’t think I’m prosecuting any of your cases, am I?’
Feime shook her head. ‘I have a new client. An international. He was a client of Tomi Mema. Mr Jeff Bradley. He’s from New Zealand.’
Leka had to suppress the startled exclamation that rose in his throat. Had Gashi been in his office at that moment, Leka swore to himself he would have plunged a knife through his heart. He feigned a fit of coughing.
‘Please excuse me. My throat is very sore. I think I might be coming down with something.’ He poured water into a glass and gulped a mouthful. ‘Let me see. Bradley . . . I seem to know the name, but I can’t think why.’
‘He is a friend of Arben Shala, the man murdered in the detention centre.’
‘Ah, yes. The property dispute. A vineyard. But don’t I recall that the court has since decided in favour of Mr Shala?’
‘The documents were to be signed on the morning of Tomi’s death. Mr Bradley has hired me to take over the file. The formalities still need to be properly concluded.’
‘I see. I’m not sure what I can do to help. As you know, since . . . well, since yesterday the courts are closed.’
Feime fixed a steady look fixed upon Leka. ‘I would not like to see my client disappointed in this, Avni. It would disappoint me so much as well.’
‘Er. Why don’t you leave it with me? I’ll find out what’s needed to complete the process and phone you tomorrow.’
‘That would be most appreciated. Thank you. I would also like to look through Mr Shala’s court file, if possible? I saw clerks downstairs. Can you authorise that for me now?’
Her eyes betrayed nothing. This woman’s good, Leka was thinking.
‘Is there any need for that? The decision has been made. Only the formalities remain, as you said.’
‘Not the property file. I want Mr Shala’s criminal file. Mr Bradley asked me to look into the charges against him. His family want to clear his name. Thus I need to see the file.’
Again the steady expressionless look.
Now Leka was convinced there was steel behind the silk. He managed to force a smile. She had every right to ask for the file. He would only be drawing attention to himself should he deny her access. Maybe she would simply skip through it and not delve into too much detail. But Leka knew Feime was far too good a lawyer for such sloppiness.
‘Very well. I’ll telephone downstairs and tell them to make a copy for you.’
When Feime had gone Leka pulled out his mobile. Gashi created this mess. He could clean it up.
Jeff stood at the window watching a group of small boys kick a battered football around on the patch of bare ground behind the bus stop. The usual Kukri group had gathered at Morgan’s apartment for preprandial drinks. Sulla was taking his new friends out for a late lunch at a traditional Albanian place in gratitude for helping to clear his name. Once Jeff had phoned Feime Berisha for news from the courts, they would press on to the restaurant he’d selected in the old part of town.
For the first time since Arben’s death, Jeff felt in a lighter mood. He regretted dragging Barry, Bethany and Morgan into his troubles. It had proved a huge relief to him that no one had been harmed. How he would have coped if his actions had caused another person close to him to die did not bear thinking about.
It was time to put the whole dreadful episode behind him and return to New Zealand. Jeff knew he could best serve his friend now by looking out for his family. Caldwell would eventually track down those responsible for Arben’s death. There was no point in Jeff hanging about to play detective. Caldwell was right. He lacked the right set of skills and his blundering around might jeopardise Caldwell’s investigation. He would instruct Feime Berisha to turn any suspicious details she found in Arben’s files over to the American.
A burst of laughter from Morgan cut through his thoughts. He turned to watch her pouring wine for Bethany. They hadn’t had a moment alone since the funeral. He had never met anyone quite like her and was experiencing feelings absent from his life since his early days with Rebecca. Not that it mattered. Not that he could let it matter. He was leaving Kosovo and she was staying.
Morgan looked up and caught Jeff’s gaze. With a tilt of the head she encouraged him to join the group. He moved a
cross and stood beside her. Their arms brushed. The warmth of her skin through the fabric of his shirt set his heart beating a little faster.
Normality exploded as glass shattered out of the windows and flew across the room.
The sound of gunfire rent the air.
‘Get down! Everyone, down!’ Jeff shouted.
Five people dropped to the floor as fist-sized pock marks slam-slam-slammed into the ceiling. Clouds of dust and plaster descended.
Barry half-rose with a choking cough. ‘What the fuck is that?’
Jeff reached out and pushed down on his head. ‘Kalashnikovs. Stay down, for Christ’s sake.’
More bursts of fire. Jeff managed to get an arm over Morgan and pull her alongside him. The glass bowl covering the light bulb disintegrated. A frightened Bethany gasped a muffled prayer, her hands over her head, body flinching with every shot. Barry threw his arm across her.
Then the shooting stopped.
The abrupt silence rang in Jeff’s ears.
‘Stay where you are, guys.’
He rose to a crouch and made a careful approach to the empty window frame. His head poked slowly over the ledge to give him a view of the surroundings below. Small boys were shrieking with excitement and pointing up at the apartment. A crowd of adults gathered around them.
No sign of the gunmen anywhere.
Sulla crept up beside him.
Jeff frowned. ‘What the hell was that about?’
‘Gashi.’ The name from Sulla’s lips sounded more like a spit. ‘But I think he is only trying to scare us. Otherwise he would have thrown a grenade through the window and we would not be having this conversation.’
‘Christ Almighty, Sulla. Bullets do ricochet, you know?’
Jeff stood up and walked across to Morgan with his hand extended. She grasped it and rose from the floor.
‘You okay, Morgan?’
‘No bullet holes.’ She patted her body. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Bethany? Barry? How about you?’
‘I’ll be a bloody sight better when someone gives me a flaming beer,’ said Barry, helping Bethany to her feet. ‘You okay, sweetheart?’
Jeff didn’t think Bethany looked okay at all for somebody with the saints in heaven to protect her. She attempted a smile. ‘Shaken a bit. I’m good. Look at all this, will you? I can’t see you getting your cleaning deposit back, Morgan.’
Barry kissed her nose then hugged her. ‘That’s my brave girl.’
Jeff caught Sulla’s eye. A slow and deliberate nod came back at him.
41.
Jeff studied the name above the menu board. ‘The Fushe Kosovo cafe?’ he read out loud.
‘Fushe Kosovo is the name of this village, also called Kosovo Polje,’ Sulla said. ‘Rough translation in English – the field of blackbirds. This is the exact site of a battle between twenty-five thousand Serbian soldiers and the might of the Ottoman Empire. Well, that is what the locals say.’ Sulla grinned. ‘No one is alive to verify it. And who would trust a Serb anyway?’
‘Okay, I’ll play. Who won?’
‘Not the Serbs, my friend, but they fought well. The old people say thousands of blackbirds flew into the bloodied fields and picked over the bones of the fallen and carried away their souls. The rivers ran red for days.’
‘Blackbirds? I never thought a blackbird ate flesh.’
‘Not blackbirds like you know blackbirds. These were mostly crows, ravens and the like. What the old people should have said was birds that were black. But they didn’t, they said blackbirds.’
Jeff nodded. Looking less confused, just.
Sulla turned back to his brother-in-law. A discussion ensued in Albanian. Jeff didn’t take exception. He occupied his time watching the late afternoon traffic build up. Diesel fumes spewing out of dozens of generators dotted along the cracked cement footpaths bonded with the octane droplets leaking from rusting car exhausts, and thickened the surrounding atmosphere. Jeff hoped he wasn’t about to spend too much time outside, fearful his lungs might become lined with the same black sludge covering the cafe window.
Blerim Basholli had not hesitated when Sulla told him he intended going after Osman Gashi. He arrived in Fushe Kosovo with a dozen men and a small arsenal of weapons hell-bent on bringing Gashi’s life to an end. It amused Jeff that only a few days before the two brothers-in-law had been mortal enemies, now they were bickering with each other and slugging back drinks as intimately as any pair of best friends.
Jeff did not share the same level of enthusiasm for Gashi’s immediate demise. Not yet, anyway. As much as he agreed the world would be a better place without the criminal gang leader in it, his military experience cast a different light on things. The plain truth was that if Gashi could lead Lee Caldwell to the mastermind behind the bombers, it would save many lives.
An hour earlier, he had gone with Sulla and Basholli to reconnoitre Gashi’s house. The first half-mile of road had been sealed. But just before the road ascended a small ridge, it deteriorated into a mud track. Sulla had parked in a small copse of trees and the three had crawled to the top of the ridge. In the distance they saw a concrete block wall surrounding Gashi’s three-storey house. Two sentries patrolled the roof. The mile of open ground surrounding the house would make it impossible to approach unseen. It was obvious to Jeff there would be no creeping up on Osman Gashi.
Sulla poured more cognac and turned back to Jeff. ‘Getting to Gashi isn’t going to be easy,’ he said in English. ‘Some of Blerin’s men are marksmen. They can easily take care of the sentries, even at six hundred metres. But he fears that would only alert the others inside and then these men would not make themselves so visible. I think we all agree that to cross the open ground would be suicidal. Blerim suggests we could wait for Gashi to leave the compound. Make an ambush.’
Basholli nodded in confirmation. ‘Yes. Don’t go in like a bull. Wait like the mountain lion,’ he said. Sulla grinned at him.
‘A sensible option,’ Jeff said. ‘I agree an attack is out of the question.’
‘But this might not happen for days,’ Sulla said. ‘Gashi has had Tomi Mema murdered, and now attacked us. He will lie low, I am sure of it. If his men do not see you leave Kosovo, Jeff, I think he will try something else. Maybe hurt Morgan or Barry. We cannot wait. Tonight he thinks he is safe because in his stupid fat head he thinks a few bullets will scare us. He will never expect us to come for him.’
‘I agree with what Sulla has said,’ Basholli said. ‘Waiting will give Gashi confidence. But an attack is still not possible. At night is better than day but if the sentry has a night scope . . .’
‘We would be like sitting geese,’ Sulla said, finishing the sentence for Basholli.
Jeff didn’t bother to correct him. ‘How many men will he have inside the compound?’
‘At a guess, I would say at least eight, maybe ten. But this village is full of Gashi’s people. He could have reinforcements within minutes.’
Jeff assessed the men in heavy jackets wandering the street or warming their hands over coal embers. They looked like a mix of peasant farmers and labourers. None looked like soldiers.
Basholli waggled a finger at Sulla and Jeff. ‘We must be wary of NATO. We start a war, they come. Armoured vehicles. Helicopters.’
‘So, whatever we decide needs to be quick and decisive? Is this what you’re saying, Blerim?’
Jeff received a pleased grin in reply. ‘I have a rocket launcher. More than twenty rockets. There is no need to go inside the compound to kill him. We blast it to pieces. Shoot the men who run out. Escape before NATO or the police arrive.’
Sulla grinned and slapped Basholli on the shoulder. ‘I like this plan. It is a very good plan.’
Jeff disliked dampening such obvious enthusiasm, but he felt the need to persuade them to reconsider. ‘Look, guys. I understand your desire
for revenge. Gashi ordered Arben’s murder, so I’d be more than happy to have you cut his throat.’ Jeff drew his finger across his throat. Another smile and another vigorous nod from Basholli. ‘But remember. The reason Gashi attacked us and had Benny killed was because we were getting too close to his boss. If we blast the place to smithereens, the trail goes cold and his boss gets away.’
Basholli looked at Jeff with a blank expression. ‘I do not care. This is not a concern for me. Gashi killed my father. Now I will have my revenge.’
Cups rattled as Basholli’s fist struck the table. Jeff held up his hands, palms facing Basholli. ‘I’m not saying don’t kill him, Blerim. I’m only saying don’t kill him right now. You must have had plenty of opportunities already?’
Basholli appeared to calm down. He offered a shrug. ‘Gashi is all the time guarded. Not easy to get to. But I am a patient man. Now my time has come.’
Jeff smiled. ‘I’m asking you to be patient a little longer. When we have the information the CIA man needs, you can do what you like. Hell, I’ll even help you.’ Jeff turned to Sulla. ‘Caldwell gave you the chance to clear your name when he could have just arrested you. You owe him.’
Sulla threw a sideways glance at Basholli. His response was another shrug.
Jeff understood their reluctance. This was a big ask. Even if Basholli’s men could get close enough, they had neither the resources nor the numbers to storm a heavily armed fortress.
Basholli and Sulla reverted to arguing in Albanian. Jeff turned back to look through the window. It had got darker. Traffic flow had come to a standstill. Impatient drivers sounded horns and yelled at one another.
‘Jeff.’
Jeff peered back at the two men.
‘Even if we try to do what you ask, it still may not be possible to get to Gashi. The only way into the compound is through a giant reinforced steel gate or over the wall. Many would die this way.’
Jeff swung round in his chair. ‘While you guys have been . . . discussing it, I’ve been thinking. Gashi considers himself to be a businessman, doesn’t he?’ Sulla nodded. ‘And as a businessman, he isn’t likely to sacrifice himself needlessly, is he? His fight with us is not about patriotism, or revenge or some higher purpose. It’s just about money.’