by Thomas Ryan
‘This way. Follow me.’
Sulla kept to a cobbled pathway close to a row of small warehouses not much bigger than car garages. Jeff doubted any element of surprise was necessary. However, Sulla wanted to be careful so Jeff obliged.
Sulla pointed to a door behind a stand of peppers, cucumbers and tomatoes.
‘That is Bedri Cena’s brother’s cafe.’
Jeff nodded. A few metres away two sheep in a small pen ran at him. They nudged into the wire netting and bleated. The aromas of kebabs and sides of lamb rotating on spits mingled with the more pungent odours from a display of cheeses on the back of a small horse-drawn trailer. The horse stood still, its head drooped. The straw-thin farmer in attendance sucked in a lungful of nicotine and fell into a spluttering fit of coughing. Jeff mused that he could have been a clone of the Xhiha brothers. Radios hanging from poles played CDs of ethnic music. The discordant sounds reminded Jeff of Turkey.
Even though the temperature was close to freezing Jeff had worn light clothing. His hands ached from the cold. Had he the time, he would have looked for a pair of gloves. Maybe later. He limbered up his arms with circular stretching movements.
When the fight started his joints needed to be loose.
Sulla drew Jeff to a halt outside the cafe entrance. He looked back towards the road.
‘Last chance.’
‘I’m not changing my mind, Sulla. Let’s do it.’
Sulla pushed open the door. A cloud of cigarette smoke and the ubiquitous smells of alcohol, sweat and roasting kebabs sucked out past them into the ravenous open air. The crowded cafe was very hot. Gas heaters turned on high stood in the four corners of the room. The interior was lit only by beams of sunlight struggling through two small windows just beneath the timber roof rafters.
It took a few seconds for Jeff’s eyes to adjust.
‘That’s him,’ Sulla whispered in his ear. ‘In the corner. The one wearing the red shirt.’
Jeff studied the man sitting with his back to the wall. There were six others seated with him. Two open bottles of cognac sat in the centre of the table. A dead one lay on its side between them. The group was in high spirits. Their conversation loud and animated. Talking over the top of each other. It struck Jeff the mood of the table had a celebratory feel. No doubt a Welcome Home, Bedri party. The man in red yelled something unintelligible. Laughter followed.
Bedri Cena looked not to be a big man to Jeff. But the sleeves of his shirt did draw tight around bulging biceps.
It took four steps to the table.
Jeff bent low. ‘You’re Bedri Cena?’
Seven heads turned his way.
‘Who is asking?’
Good, Jeff thought. If you need someone who speaks English in a foreign country, go looking for street hawkers and criminals.
‘We have a mutual acquaintance. Arben Shala, remember him? Arben was a close friend of mine.’ Jeff paused. Bedri’s face twitched. ‘Nice man, Bedri. He has a beautiful wife and two lovely children waiting for him to come home. But poor Arben can’t go home and you know why?’ Bedri’s eyes stood wide and fixed on Jeff’s face. ‘He can’t go home because he’s dead, Bedri. And he’s dead because you murdered him.’
Bedri’s lips pursed. A forefinger rubbed his bottom lip. With deliberation he placed hands on table and pushed himself upright.
‘Ah ha. You must be Arben’s boss from New Zealand. He told me you might come. I did not believe he had such a good friend, but here you are. Let me give you some advice: go back to your country. I will allow you to walk out of here for Arben’s sake. He was a good man. He deserves this much respect.’
A man alongside Bedri also stood. ‘Do as he says, foreigner. You are not welcome here.’
Sulla tapped Jeff’s shoulder.
‘That piece of shit is Bedri’s brother.’
The brother glowered at Sulla. Sulla stared back without flinching.
Bedri’s friends rose from their chairs and began to spread out. Jeff stood his ground. ‘Don’t do anything silly,’ he said. He took a pace forward. ‘I’ve only come for Bedri.’ Jeff turned to the others. ‘You cannot help your friend. Leave now.’
Bedri’s face closed up to Jeff’s. His smirk smacked of extreme confidence, his breath of rotting fish and cognac.
‘You are a fool. You cannot beat all of us. Even with your monkey to help you.’
Sulla’s arm rose in a signal. Blerim Basholli’s plants and a dozen pistols rose as one from amongst the diners.
Sulla turned to Bedri with a laugh.
‘Not a bad trick for a monkey, is it?’
Whites of eyes gleamed as the group exchanged cautious glances. Then every one of them sat back down. The sudden movement of the barman caught Jeff’s eye. A hand had reached under the counter. In a flash Sulla’s pistol was at the man’s chest. At a prompt from Sulla’s gun he hastened from behind the bar to sit with the others.
A curse cut through the air. The brother launched at Jeff.
‘Go, Bedri, go.’
Trapped in a bear hug Jeff staggered backwards. Bedri was still in his sights. A beaded curtain at the rear of the cafe parted as he disappeared. Jeff and his attacker fell against a wall. Jeff found his right hand level with his opponent’s testicles. He gripped and twisted.
With a scream the brother released Jeff and grabbed at his crotch.
Jeff arched his torso and pushed forward off his right leg. His body like an uncoiling spring unleashed power through to his shoulder, propelling his right fist with maximum force onto the brother’s jaw. The brother flew backwards crashing across the closest tables. Patrons scrambled from his path. Glasses filled with cognac flung across the floor.
Jeff ran for the rear of the cafe. Behind the curtain was a small kitchen. Cigarette frozen in space, the startled eyes of an old man surveyed him. A crude rectangular hole in the wall behind him gave a glimpse of a narrow lane. Jeff turned and bellowed to Sulla.
‘Go around the other way. Cut him off.’
Jeff leaped through the gap. When he hit the ground he was quickly into stride. His light clothing and the fact he had swapped his Timberland boots for running shoes now made a difference. He sighted Bedri nearing the end of the lane. If the killer managed to cross the ring road, he would disappear into a labyrinth of alleyways; no chance Jeff would ever catch him then.
When Jeff reached the corner, Bedri was racing up the hill. He put on a spurt of speed. His lungs were sucking hard for air but he was gaining. A glance across his shoulder. Sulla was fifty metres behind. To his surprise Bedri stopped at the kerb. He was bent double catching his breath. Jeff allowed himself a grim smile. Too much cognac inside the man coupled with the weight of heavy boots and winter clothing had sapped his energy. Chest heaving, Bedri placed a hand on the bonnet of a parked car and glanced back. Even from a distance Jeff could see the fear in his eyes. That he would never outrun his pursuer must have been obvious to him. Jeff felt sure he had him. His pace slowed as the distance between them lessened. Bedri threw a look of desperation across the four lanes streaming with vehicles. The only safety for him lay in the myriad alleys on the other side. With a hasty glance at Jeff, now almost within reach, he turned and darted into the traffic.
Car horns blasted. To Jeff’s amazement Bedri made it to the third lane. Then Arben’s killer looked back to check if Jeff was following. But conscious of the extreme danger, Jeff had stopped at the kerb edge. Fists clenched in frustration he watched as Bedri turned to continue his escape. The truck that struck Bedri flung him into the air like a killer whale tossing a seal. Tortured tyres screamed as the truck braked. Much too late. Bedri bounced onto the bonnet of a red service van and slid into the path of a bus. The bus brakes locked and its tyres smoked as they rolled over Bedri, grinding him into the tar-seal.
Sulla panted up behind Jeff. He took one look at the stalled tr
affic and horrified faces of motorists and gripped Jeff’s arm. ‘It is over. Come away now.’
Jeff turned to him with eyes that still saw only the bloody mess of Bedri Cena trapped beneath greasy axles.
‘Not quite the way I wanted it, Sulla. But I can live with it.’
‘Justice is done and your hands are clean.’
Jeff nodded. ‘Take me to the hotel, will you? I need a shower.’
45.
At a touch of a finger, the seat beneath him adjusted to a comfortable reclining position. The voice of the American businessman opposite was asking for smoked salmon with his champagne. A grim smile crossed Halam Akbar’s face as he thought how the illusion of wealth and respectability so easily translated into the kind of deference he’d like to stay accustomed to. He and his brother, Zahar, had boarded the Malev Airlines flight from Budapest to Prishtina dressed in the dark suits of successful Saudi businessmen. As expected the first-class cabin crew had been fussing over them like minor royalty. But business was furthest from their thoughts. After the fiasco in Greece he and Zahar were on a quest to get their money. They had a desperate need for that money now, and Kosovo was where it was.
Halam thought again about the one big assumption he was gambling on: that neither the UN nor NATO would be expecting him and his brother to be entering the territory they controlled. He cursed again at the circumstances that were driving him and Zahar to take the risk. But with luck, his care to ensure there were no photos or descriptions in circulation of either of them would pay off. Halam and Zahar should be as ghosts. They would collect the million euros and be on their way to Iran and a new life inside forty-eight hours.
‘We are booked into the Prishtina Hotel.’
A smile at Halam from the taxi driver. The boot lid slammed to hide the brothers’ suitcase and he hurried to open the rear door.
‘It is a very nice hotel. You will enjoy.’
‘Is it close to the main centre?’
‘A few hundred metres. Not far at all.’
On the journey the driver continued to try to chat with his passengers, but monosyllabic grunts soon discouraged him. Once checked in at the Prishtina Hotel, Zahar insisted they sit in Halam’s room to gather their thoughts. ‘It makes me very nervous. All the NATO and UN personnel. They’re everywhere. And too many police.’
‘Relax. They will pay us no attention. There are so many different nationalities here, thousands of them. We will not stand out. Both the UN and the locals will think we are UN staff. We hide in plain sight. The perfect place.’
A doubtful shake of Zahar’s head. ‘When are you making contact with Avni Leka?’
‘Later. I will use a street phone. If there are problems I do not want the hotel name showing up on caller ID. We will meet with him tomorrow. First, we need to walk the city. I want to see Leka’s office and reconnoitre the surrounding area. I have been thorough in learning all there is about our man. The Internet is a wonderful invention. We now know Leka is a prosecutor and I have photos.’
‘This also makes me nervous. We never meet with the people we work for. It is our best security.’
‘Brother, I too dislike that we lose our anonymity. But we must get that money. Now. Make us some tea before we begin and do not worry.’
46.
Even as Bedri Cena’s remains were being scraped off the highway, Jeff was turning his mind to the man who ordered Gashi to kill Arben. The team he had assembled might be ragtag by any standards, but he knew he could trust them. Barry had had the courage to drive Sulla to Peje and was still game for whatever was to come. Bethany hadn’t fallen apart when Gashi’s men strafed the apartment. As for Morgan, she knew the countryside and the language. Jeff smiled as it occurred to him that there was no way she would agree not to be part of all this anyway.
The big plus for Jeff was that he had Sulla and Blerim Basholli. It was time to start surveillance. Jeff had wanted both ends of the street covered. Barry found parking and a good vantage point two hundred metres from the court entrance. Leka couldn’t leave without being seen. Morgan and Bethany sat in the cafe on the corner. Barry reached behind the seat and pulled out a plastic Tupperware container with sandwiches Bethany had packed for him. Blerim Basholli shook his head at the food, but accepted a can of soda.
Barry had hardly begun to tuck into his sandwich when the rumble and hissing air-brakes of a truck sounded in his ears. A glance mid-bite and his heart dropped at the sight of the large truck blocking them in. Two men leaped out and began conveying bags of cement onto the adjacent building site. With a grimace at Basholli he put down his sandwich and made to open his window to shout at the men to bugger off.
‘Leka,’ Basholli hissed.
Barry’s eyes flew back to the courthouse. ‘Shit. Oh shit.’
When Leka appeared Morgan and Bethany exchanged startled glances. As they jumped to their feet, Morgan rummaged through her bag for her mobile.
‘He’s on the move, Barry. The way he’s clinging to his briefcase there’s more in it than documents.’
‘I know, I know. We’ve seen him. But we’re bloody blocked in.’
Morgan stooped to look through the cafe window. ‘Oh Christ, so you are. What’re we supposed to do now?’
‘Stay on the line and follow him. We’ll get to you as soon as we can.’
‘Will do.’
Morgan and Bethany dodged a taxi as they dashed across the street.
Basholli hurled abuse in Albanian at the driver of the truck. The two men unloading the cement ignored him. One paused to light a cigarette then handed it to his mate. Barry groaned. He continued to hold the mobile close enough to hear if he was called.
‘The girls will stay on the line. But what the hell can we do? Those ignorant arseholes could be another ten minutes.’
‘I could beat up on them. I would enjoy this.’
‘Oh Jesus. Forget that. Look at the police over there in the court entranceway. We can’t go getting arrested, for God’s sake. Look. New plan. Bethany and Morgan are following Leka. They know not to get too close. You go after them. I’ll stay with the vehicle and follow as soon as I can get the SUV out. I’ll phone Jeff and tell him what’s happening.’
‘Where’s Leka now?’
‘Just a minute.’ Barry put the phone to his ear. ‘Morgan, Blerim is coming. Where are you?’
‘Mother Teresa Boulevard.’
‘Mother Teresa Boulevard, Blerim.’
Basholli left the car and broke into a lope heading back down the courthouse lane. Barry rang off and punched in Jeff’s number.
One ring.
‘Go ahead, Barry.’
‘Leka’s on the move. Morgan said from the way he’s hanging onto his briefcase it’s got more than his lunch in it. I think this might be it.’
‘Are you following?’
‘No, mate. I’m stuck. Some bloody ignorant truckies have blocked me in. The girls are following Leka on foot. Blerim’s gone off after them. I’ll call as soon as I can move.’
‘You got money on you?’
‘Um, yes, mate. Why?’
‘Offer them ten euros each. They’ll move.’
Finally free, Barry edged his UN SUV out onto the ring road. It proved impossible to cross lanes. He had little option but to go with the flow of traffic. If he turned right at the next two sets of traffic lights, he could loop back and come towards Leka from the opposite direction. At the Grand Hotel intersection he would have little choice but to turn left. Now that his master plan was in place he hoped to hell Leka was either going to the Grand or down the hill.
Morgan was first to spot Basholli closing behind then. She and Bethany had stopped outside the Illyrian Hotel and were feigning interest in a pair of Raybans at a street stall. The hawker, hands in prayerful mode, implored Bethany in Albanian to take advantage of the special winter price. With onl
y half her attention on him, Bethany carried on the pretence of buying. Morgan kept an eye on Leka’s movements reflected in a store window.
‘What’s happening? Where is Leka?’
Basholli glared at the salesman who backed off a few metres. ‘Across the street. In front of the bookshop. The man with him just stopped him and won’t let him go.’
‘You think that this is the man Leka is to meet?’
‘No. I’ve seen this one at the courts. Local lawyer.’
As three sets of eyes scrutinised the two men, the lawyer threw his hands in the air in a gesture of annoyance, turned on his heel and stomped away. Leka watched him for a second, adjusted the briefcase closer to his chest, then strode onwards.
Basholli beckoned Morgan and Bethany into a heads-down huddle.
‘Okay. All we can do for now is follow,’ Basholli said. ‘I think the best thing is for you two to continue after Leka. I will fall back and follow. If you think you are seen, stop and Morgan run your hand through your hair. This will be the signal and I will take over from you.’
Morgan nodded. ‘Come on, Bethany. Forget the glasses. We’ve got our marching orders.’ Bethany passed the Raybans to the disgruntled salesman, mouthed an apology and followed after Morgan.
In the SUV Barry reached the Grand Hotel intersection at the same time as the other three. He waved to Morgan and looked down the hill to where she was pointing. No Leka in sight. Drivers behind him blasted horns as he slowed down to find a space to park. None appeared, so he had to keep moving. Then he spotted Leka, just where the road flattened out near the bottom. For motorists the road split into two lanes. Barry had to make a decision – left or right. More horn blasts as he again slowed.
Leka made up his mind for him. He stopped at the left-hand crossing.
Barry swung onto the left lane, cutting in front of an oncoming car. The sound of screeching tyres had Barry bracing for impact. But the offended vehicle slid sideways, missing the SUV by inches. Horn blasts. In his rear-view mirror Barry viewed an angry face and shaking fist.