checkpoint on the MakJlen Ridge, dodging the land mines that reminded her of upturned dinner plates. The Bedford was a few metres in front.
Every sighting of the Groat militia made her shiver. She knew they suspected convoys like this one secretly ferried men and arms to their Muslim-led enemies. Two vehicles without UN logos, hers and the Bedford, would not go unnoticed.
Supposing one checkpoint got awkward? Supposing they searched and found Vildana? Would the girl lieutenant and her three soldiers protect them?
No way.
Have to pray for the 'slivovitz factor'; that the men on the checkpoints were too boozed-up to care.
The back of the Bedford jolted and swayed. Poor kid, she thought. Hope to God she's not been sick.
She pictured Alex wrestling with the wheel. Last night she'd lain awake thinking about what he'd told her, smarting that he had lied about still working for the intelligence services. Eventually she had cooled on that, however, convinced he had been honest in the end.
By the time she'd dropped off to sleep in the small hours, Alex's rationale for sabotaging the breakout from Long Kesh in 1973 had begun to seem more acceptable. Her own support for the Provisionals, unquestioning then, had been undermined not long after by their Boston backers' uncharitable wish to end her life.
What she could not yet accept or forgive was Alex's duplicity over Catherine. For twenty years, deep down, she had longed to make things good with him again, a longing she had never admitted to, even to her sister Annie. But that desire had been balanced by an even stronger yearning - that he should suffer for what he'd done - suffer like she had.
Eventually they would be reunited, she was certain of that. The dream she'd had when they'd first met had been too vivid to be anything other than a premonition. The dream of her oval face in an open coffin and Alex weeping by the grave.
The long, steep hill wound down into Prozor, an evil place from where the Muslims had long since been ethnically cleansed. An HVO garrison town, from where camouflaged buses packed with soldiers shuttled to and from the trenches up on the ridge.
The UN convoy slowed to a snail's pace to negotiate the narrow street.
Then they were through, climbing past a string of villages towards the IJubuga mountains.
The tarmac ended by a lake, its chalky waters grey and choppy. The vehicles in front pulled in to the right.
'We're taking a break, by the look of it,' Alex remarked. 'Gives us a chance to see how Vildana is. And for a pee.'
'I think, I go look in the back,' Josip agreed.
'Don't let anyone see her.'
The translator looked at him coldly. He didn't need to be told that.
'Hi. How're you doing?' The lieutenant had stopped by the cab.
'Fine. How long are we stopping for?'
'Could be ten minutes. There's a Canadian convoy coming down off the mountain. No point in moving until that's out of the way.'
'Good. Time for a leak, then.'
'Huh! All right for you boys! I just have to keep my legs crossed.'
She moved on to talk to Lorna in the Toyota. Alex climbed down and scuttled off to the right, where a line of drivers were already relieving themselves against a rock face.
When he'd finished, he found the tailboard down and Josip already up on the cargo platform. Lorna got out of the Land Cruiser and came across.
'How is she?' she asked, looking round to see no one was close enough to hear.
Alex lifted the tarpaulin flap. The body bag was still secure. Beyond it Josip crouched by the camouflaged hide, talking and listening.
'Seems all right,' Alex replied.
Josip loped back to the tailboard.
'She say she feel sick,' he announced. 'I tell her to eat some bread.'
'Poor kid. Has she thrown up?' Lorna asked.
'No, just feels sick. She okay, I think.' He jumped down and re-secured the tarpaulin.
Alex strolled with Lorna towards the lake.
'Are you all right?' An all-purpose question that could cover as much or as little as she wanted.
'Sure. I like driving.'
Giving nothing away, a hand's breadth shorter than Alex, Lorna cocked her head on one side, looking at him pensively.
Extraordinary, she thought. The man had been such a part of her life, yet she had only spent a few weeks with him in the flesh. Never had the chance to find out who he really was ...
'What I was saying yesterday,' Alex began, fumblingly, 'Belfast and all that. . .'
'I heard what you said. . .' Her tone was flat and she turned back towards the convoy, showing this wasn't the time to pursue the issue.
'The lieutenant said they may search the trucks at the border,' Alex went on, sticking to safer ground.
'Oh? I'd hoped that with the UN we'd drive straight through,' she said, alarmed.
'Maybe we'll be lucky. Anyway, what's your plan once we're in Split? I have to get Moray's body to the airport.'
'Let's stop somewhere when we're safely across the border and there's nobody about. We'll get Vildana out of the truck and into the Land Cruiser. We're going to stay at the Hotel Split tonight.'
He looked at her, wondering for a moment if it was an invitation.
'I'll see you there then,' he smiled. The words slipped out.
Her eyes chilled. 'Don't get any ideas, Alex.'
She took a pace back from him.
'It's not the same this time,'she warned, walking away, a touch of pink suffusing her concave cheeks.
Alex smarted at the rebuff. He'd make a fool of himself if he didn't watch out.
Down the hill towards them came a long line of huge, articulated trucks. The Canadian UN convoy was on its way through. The drivers of the British vehicles climbed back into their cabs and Alex hurried to the Bedford.
With puffs of blue smoke, the diesels revved and the convoy bounced back onto the rutted track. There'd be a good three hours of this. Three hours to cover fifty kilometres of one of the worst truck highways in the world.
It was only ten-thirty, yet it felt like lunchtime. He reached into his ration bag and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in cling film.
'Undo this for me, would you, Josip?'
'Sure.'
He peeled off the film and passed it back. Alex bit into it hungrily.
'Where's home, Josip?' he asked.
The translator wobbled his head.
'Many place. My father live Zagreb, my mother in Split. I have lived Sweden, Gennany, Paris, Belgrade, Zagreb.'
'You don't have an apartment somewhere? Not married?'
'I have many girlfriend. I stay in their apartment.'
Alex nodded. He didn't believe him, but it wasn't worth pressing.
'You? You're married?' Josip asked.
Hard to answer. He didn't know any more.
'Yes. Married, but not, if you know what I mean.'
The answer seemed to set Josip thinking. He sat in silence for a minute or two.
'You fuck with Lorna?' he asked suddenly.
Alex coughed. Stupid conversation. His fault for starting it.
'No,' he answered. 'What on earth makes you think that?'
The road wound higher and higher, hugging the red sandstone of the mountain. On one of the tighter bends a trailer truck lay in the trees below, a victim of the winter ice. After an hour the surface began to improve, where the British army engineers had widened and strengthened it. Every few kilometres huge earth-movers shovelled hard core into the potholes.
They passed checkpoints manned by HVO but attracted little interest. Away from the front line, tension had eased. On right-hand bends Alex checked in the door mirror to see that Lorna was still behind.
At the highest point, snow lingered on the branches, but on the roadway it had melted into a slush that clogged the wipers.
Eventually, after long pauses to let convoys pass in the opposite direction, the road dipped steeply down through the trees towards the plains of Hercegovina.
'I fear
we've got a very sick child in the back by now,' Alex remarked.
Josip grunted agreement.
They rattled and bounced a few more kilometres, then the tyres hummed on tarmac.
'Thank God for a proper surface,' Alex breathed, stretching one arm at a time to shake the fatigue from his shoulders.
They cut through the outskirts of Tomislavgrad, then picked up the main road for Split.
'How far to the border, Josip?'
'Maybe forty minutes, I think.'
As they sped on down the road, Alex's eyelids began to droop. All that driving after a night of little sleep had taken its toll. He kept shaking his head to keep awake.
Suddenly there was a roadside sign. The border was just five hundred metres ahead. Alex tensed up. He had no idea what to do if the Croat guards found Vildana. Have to bluff their way through.
'Fingers crossed, Josip.'
The road border between Bosnia-Hercegovina and Croatia amounted to a string of prefab huts manned by a handful of officials in dark blue uniforms.
The convoy halted and the lieutenant strode to an office clutching the passports of the UN personnel. The rain had stopped and a chill wind broke up the cloud layer.
'I guess we just sit tight,' Alex muttered.
The border guards idly scanned the line of trucks. Then a couple wandered wearily towards them. One was a woman with curly hair and red lipstick.
They made first for the Toyota.
In the door mirror Alex watched Lorna hand out her passport and UNPROFOR card. The woman took them to the office. The male officer walked round the Land Cruiser, looking through the windows.
Suddenly he turned to the Bedford, and stared at the back, low down where the number plate was.
He strolled round the side and appeared at the window, eyes full of suspicion.
'Paaol! he said gruffly.
'He want passport,' Josip translated, unnecessarily. He passed his own across too. Seeing he was Croatian, the official fired questions at him.
'He says we do not have UN plates on this truck. He asks who we are.'
'Well, tell him. Say we're a British aid agency called Bosnia Emergency.'
Josip translated.
The official's dark eyes were deeply suspicious. He jerked a thumb towards the back of the truck.
'He wants to see inside,' Josip gulped.
Alex climbed down from the cab and walked calmly back, Josip shadowing him on the other side.
'Explain to the officer that we have a body in the back, Josip. Tell him it's of an Englishman who was shot dead by accident.'
As Josip translated, he could see the official believed none of it. ', Alex unpinned the hasps and lowered the board on its chains. He lifted a corner of the tarpaulin flap to reveal the body-bag. The official peered in and then turned on them, shouting.
'He say where are papers for the dead man.'
Papers? McFee's passport? Hadn't thought of that.
'Tell him I'll get them.'
Alex pulled himself up onto the tailboard. McFee's suitcase was strapped to the floor next to the boxes that concealed Vildana's hide. He clicked open the bag and searched through the dead man's clothing with his fingers.
A vile smell pervaded this end of the truck. A smell of vomit. Suddenly he heard laboured breathing and a stifled whimper.
Not now, Vildana! Just a few more minutes, for God's sake!
His fingers touched and he plucked the passport from the case.
'Here it is,' he called, thumping his feet on the steel floor. Noise, that's what they needed. Lots of it to drown any sounds Vildana might make. He crouched on the tailboard, clearing his throat as loudly as he could.
'You know, it never occurred to me a dead man would need a passport, Josip,' he said loudly. 'Did it you? I mean a corpse is just another piece of cargo really, isn't it?'
Josip understood what he was up to.
'Yes. I did not think so either that a passport is needed.'
'But I guess they have to know who the dead person is,' he continued.
The official interrupted, swiping his hand to indicate a zip opening.
'He say he want to see face,' Josip explained, darkly.
'Tell him it's not a pretty sight,' Alex replied, standing up again.
The official hoisted himself into the cargo space. Alex andJosip banged about on the steel floor. The fat end of the body bag was towards the middle of the truck. Alex pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and pressed it over his nose.
'I'd advise our friend here to do the same,' he suggested.
The official's attention had been caught by the pile of boxes at the far end of the truck.
Alex grabbed at the heavy zip on the body bag.
'Here,' he said. 'Take a quick look, I don't want this open for long.'
The zip incorporated a rubber seal and took a sharp tug to get it to move.
McFee's face was pinched and yellow, hardly recognizable. The sour smell from the bag penetrated his mask, and made him gag.
The official positioned himself beside the corpse, then held out the passport to compare the photo of the living with the face of death. He screwed up his face in disgust, then nodded that the bag should be closed again.
The official's attention returned to the boxes. Alex followed his gaze.
A black smear of water was trickling from under the cardboard along the grooves in the floor.
Jesus! The kid's wet herself and the bastard's going over to look!
Alex dropped to his knees, retching violently. It wasn't hard to simulate with the ever-growing stench.
He'd fallen deliberately between the official and the hide.Josip fussed around him, adding to the distraction. The gut-heaving noise and the smell had their effect; the official stumbled to the back of the truck and climbed out, sucking in great gulps of air.
Josip and Alex followed quickly, closing up the tailboard. Alex leaned against the side of the Bedford, panting.
The official pulled Josip to one side and began berating him. Josip shrugged and shook his head.
Alex glanced at Lorna who'd remained in the Toyota, pretending she was nothing to do with them. She studiously avoided his gaze.
'O-hh,' Josip sighed, 'this man, he says we must have paper to bring body into Croatia. Special paper.'
'What sort of paper, for Christ's sake? Tell him the body's going to be flown back to England tomorrow by the Royal Air Force. Tell him it'll only be in Croatia for a matter of hours.'
Josip tried again. This time it was the official who shrugged and shook his head.
Alex saw the Logistics Corps lieutenant watching from fifty inetres away.
He made a face at her as if to say 'can you help', but she turned away.
They may have been awarded a UN escort, but they weren't UN business.
Josip grabbed his arm and led him back to the driver's cab.
'You have some Deutsche marks?' he demanded.
'Some. Why? You're going to bribe this guy?'
'I think it is best. Maybe two hundred will do. Give me three hundred, if you have.'
Alex pulled his wallet from his thornproof and placed it on the driving seat, shielding it from view with his back.
'Here you are.' He folded the notes and slipped them into Josip's hand.
'For God's sake handle this right.'
Josip walked the official away from the truck and the hut where the red-lipped woman was waiting. There were smiles and pats on the shoulder, then the almost imperceptible passing of the money.
There was an art to bribery. A Balkan art.
Josip returned with the passports. The officials waved and the convoy moved on.
'Fucking brilliant Josip! Well done.'
The translator chuckled.
Ten minutes down the road, the convoy halted again, pulling off onto what had been a restaurant car park in the days when Yugoslavia had a tourist trade.
'Okay, now?' The lieutenant was at the window again.
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'Just thought I'd say goodbye. We don't go into Split itself, so I expect you'll want to drop out of the convoy here.'
She reached up and gave a surprisingly feminine handshake.
'Bye. Thanks for your help.'
She paused briefly by the Toyota, then strode back to her Land Rover, and the army vehicles moved on.
On their own at last Josip and Alex banged down the tailboard.
'What was all that about at the border?' Lorna asked.
'I'll tell you later. Let's get Vildana out,' Alex replied.
All three climbed into the truck. Alex clawed at the tape holding the boxes in place, while Josip spoke soothing words in SerboCroat.
'Oh, my God,' Lorna gasped. 'The smell! Poor baby.'
The boxes fell away. Vildana lay across the sodden sleeping bag that had been her bed. Her face was grey, her eyes sunken, and her cheeks caked with vomit.
'Oh, you poor, poor sweetheart,' Lorna whispered, dropping to her knees and lifting the girl's head. Josip took her legs, and between them they carried her to the rear of the truck, shielding her face so she wouldn't see the body-bag.
Lorna sat on the tailboard, dangling her legs over the edge and placed Vildana beside her. She hugged the girl gently and stroked her face. So helpless, she thought. So likejulie.
'All over now. All over,' she murmured.
Alex jumped to the ground.
'I'll get some water so we can clean her face,' he said.
Lorna's blue-grey eyes sparkled with tears.
Two and a half hours later Alex drove the Bedford into the UN depot next to Split airport. It was just after five. A lowering sky and the first spots of rain spattered the windscreen as another front moved in. It would be dark soon.
He'd been expected and was guided to the corner of a huge vehicle garage.
'The Herc goes at ten in the morning, sir,' a Logistics Corps sergeant told him.
Four soldiers lifted down the body bag, while the sergeant saluted. A corner of the floor had been marked off with tape. They laid the bag next to a small vase of flowers.
'Hope you approve, sir,' the sergeant breathed, snapping his hand to his side.
'Oh yes. Thank you.' Standard procedure for corpses, he guessed, whatever their history.
Alex stood for a moment, hands clasped in front of him, suddenly sad. He wanted to believe that McFee hadn't been a total monster, that his other motive for coming out here had been to help.
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