by J E Higgins
“We’re not here to make a show of ourselves,” Sauwa whispered. “We need to stay hidden.”
“From two women!” Raker growled. “No, I need to work up a sweat; the young one will do nicely. And I could enjoy the knife practice with the old bag.”
It was clear Raker had made up his mind. He was a hungry predator eyeing his next prey. In the past, his intentions had been thwarted by the heavy hand of Gilgood who had kept the German in line. Gilgood was gone now, and the predator was now unleashed.
Sauwa looked up at the two women. The grandmother was embracing her granddaughter. In this beastly war, they were making the best they could of it. Raker was about to destroy what little they had left.
Drawing back on her heels, Sauwa shifted behind the German. At the same time, she reached behind her and slid a six-inch double-edged knife from a sheath on her belt. Her colleague was too engrossed watching the two Bosnian women to notice anything else. He was biting his lower lip with his upper teeth when she quietly came up over him.
With one quick motion, she drove the blade fast and deep into the back of the man’s head slicing through his brain stem and into the brain. His body immediately went limp as he dropped to a whispered death.
Sauwa looked up, relieved to see the two Bosnians were talking to each other, unaware. Slowly she pulled the knife from its embedded place, feeling the brain and bone matter as she gradually worked it free then wiped it off with the aid of some large leaves.
Sheathing the weapon in her belt, she waited. The two Bosnians finished their chat and disappeared back into the house. Quietly Sauwa grabbed her Bergen, surveyed the area and crept back into the forest.
It would be another thirty minutes before the team was set to meet up. That would give her ample time to get some distance away.
For all their talk, Gerald and Omery weren’t the types to stick around and commence a search if the rest of their team missed the rendezvous. Even if they did eventually find Raker’s body, they were not likely to go in pursuit of anyone when enemy forces could be in the area. They would assume their teammates got ambushed by some enemy troops which alone might send them running to the jeep.
Omery and Gerald were soldiers, not psycho killers like Raker, so the women, at least for the moment, were safe.
Concealed from the house, hunkered down in a thicket of bushes, she pulled the larger roll from her Bergen and placed it on the ground. Rolling it out, she retrieved a small cape-like article. She threw her Bergen back over her shoulder and the cape over the top. It draped just below her waist and hung about her like wrinkly animal fur. Tying it firmly in place, she made a few adjustments to ensure it gave her adequate cover.
It wasn’t the best camouflage field jacket, it didn’t cover her entire body. Normally such camouflage would be made of old flight suits or larger size military fatigues, but for what she had to work with, it did the job.
Despite the shadows offered by the trees, she was still very much out in the open. The sun wouldn’t set for another three hours which meant she needed to find a place to hold up until then. In the absence of any night vision equipment, she would move mostly in the period between sunset and sunrise when there would be enough light to see where she was going while providing enough darkness to help mask her presence. How far she moved at night would depend on clear skies and moonlight.
With the aid of a map, she got her bearings. Staying close to the trees she kept her movements slow, picked up her feet, and set each step down carefully. Fast movements were the quickest way to attract the attention of enemy patrols or, worse yet, snipers. She remained vigilant on the ground and stayed clear of decaying leaves that would crackle under her feet. In between the trees’ shadows, she directed her path through any thickened foliage that presented itself.
It was in these moments that she was thankful for the extensive training she had received formally from the South African Recce Special Forces course at Fort Doppies and the additional lessons taught to her by her uncle and his former comrades from his Selous Scout days.
In the silence of the trees, she tried not to stew over the approaching end of her days in Bosnia. When she completed this mission ─ when NATO forces arrived and began their hunt for war criminals ─ she would once again be on her own, another unknown future ahead of her.
These people she was linking up with might help get her to Montenegro, but then what? She wasn’t even sure these guerrillas would follow through with the arrangement. They might abandon her, leave her to find her own means of escape. Such thoughts were distracting, and she tried to push them from her mind. But they were genuine concerns that warranted an answer. One she didn’t have.
5
David O’knomo had warned Gahima at the beginning that it would not be easy bringing the Angel of Death to justice. Cognitively, he understood; however, deep within the back of his mind, he and many others in the higher echelons of political power were sure the capture of one of his country’s deadliest assassins would be achieved quickly.
Robbed of a swift victory, Mr. Gahima had been on pins and needles for almost a year waiting to hear news of Sauwa Catcher. Responsibility for the deaths of three policemen and seven members of the Irish Republican Army at the hand of the deadly assassin rested squarely on his shoulders. And her vanishing act had been another black eye for South Africa.
Armed with NATO photos and reports indicating her possible location, O’knomo felt it time to brief his superiors. He gave his presentation, delivering each piece of intelligence in order, laying out his case to ensure it did not look like a desperate collection of random facts supporting a loose theory.
Gahima listened intently to the brief.
When it was completed, the elder statesman began strategizing ways to push for her capture. Through diplomatic channels, they could demand to have her handed over. It was a war zone; the Bosnians would be obliged to comply, or the South Africans could send in a Special Forces team and abduct or assassinate her.
O’knomo pointed out that her whereabouts were desultory at best. How long could distinctive South African Special Forces soldiers remain in the area before being compromised? He recommended they wait and let NATO go in first. When NATO brought order to the chaotic country, let the British lead the charge to find her.
But Gahima didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted her capture to be a triumph of the new government ─ not someone else’s achievement. Negotiations for her future in a British prison or one in South Africa could be discussed later.
This had been the fight O’knomo and his team had anticipated after months with high officials breathing down their necks. The team had presumed once Sauwa Catcher was located, officials would concoct some insane plan of action, even if that location was in some war zone.
The meeting ended with Gahima in a state of agitation.
Drained and feeling battered, O’knomo wished he could go home early and salvage what was left of the day. His plan ended when he entered his office and saw Jamie Nawati and Dr. Eugene Walderhyn waiting.
He had hoped they had already gone home giving him until tomorrow to explain the results of the briefing. Instead, they had opted to wait.
Coors Ravenhoof sauntered in after a trip to the washroom.
The faces around O’knomo were painted with serious looks ─ he conceded, his evening plans gone. He made his way to a nearby chair and sank into it. “Well, the old man wouldn’t accept the situation. He isn’t ready to hear we’re at a loss to do anything.”
Knocking his fist gently on the table, he looked about as he prepared his words. “While Gahima didn’t come out directly and say it, he is not letting this matter drop for the time being, as I had hoped. Instead, we are to continue working closely with the British to develop the intelligence to confirm it is her beyond question. Once NATO moves in and secures order, we are to begin planning courses of action for her retrieval.”
O’knomo’s team expressed mixed reactions to the new
s. On one hand, it was a relief to be back in the chase after so many dead ends and failures. On the other hand, a volatile area of the world made for an unpredictable future. Who knew where all this would lead?
He finished outlining the details of the meeting and concluded with, “They’re tense. The idea of the British being the ones that might have to take her was not well received.”
“Diplomatic action indeed,” scoffed Jaimie Nawati irritably. As a man accustomed to the anarchy of war, the very idea of such actions only illustrated sheer stupidity.
O’knomo remained quiet as his team vented their frustrations. For months, they had worked to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. During that time, it had seemed as if they were personally responsible for her escape. Senior figures of the intelligence community never tired in their sideline criticisms of how the operation had gone in Ireland. Ravenhoof, having been the man on the ground in her pursuit, had been excoriated by the leadership as if he had actually led the operation in Ireland himself. It was only a miracle he had not been forced into retirement. O’knomo had burned a lot of favors protecting his subordinate’s job. Something the old Afrikaner had not forgotten.
Dr. Walderhyn remained more reserved yet still irritated. “I’m glad you talked them out of a covert mission. But I still harbor concerns when you say they entertained the notion of a military special operation!” As an academic of foreign policy and politics, he had little patience for such things. Military adventurism had a habit of reaping bigger problems then it solved when not properly thought out considering the bigger picture not taken into consideration. Something the professor felt rarely happened.
Ravenhoof said nothing. The grinding mill he had come home to after Ireland had left him tired and defeated. The cruelty of the allegations regarding his inabilities and incompetence had been hard on a man who had served for so long in the trenches of police and intelligence work. Many of the most scathing attacks were over things he had no control over. He probably would have accepted retirement after it all was said and done, but to leave under such a dark cloud was unthinkable. He was going to see this last mission through to the end when he personally placed the handcuffs on Sauwa Catcher.
6
It had been an arduous two-day journey of cold nights and unnerving days.
Sauwa had been largely unmolested through the enemy-controlled territory, having had only one near encounter with a patrol of Bosnian soldiers. They had been part of the feared 7 Muslim Brigade and had been moving a short distance from her. She had hidden and felt her heart race as they passed, their green bandanas sporting Islamic holy script in white Farsi lettering. They moved out in a practiced tactical formation with good noise discipline that showed good training.
Sauwa didn’t like being out in the bush alone. She never did.
Normally, the Bosnians were like the Croatians, their army was thrown together with poorly trained volunteers. It gave her a much-needed edge operating in enemy territory. But some of the Muslim foreign units were different. They were staffed by seasoned combat vets and trained by more advanced military organizations with experience in other conflicts. They were a higher caliber of soldier, and that made them dangerous foes.
Following the Neretva River, she managed to keep a steady pace. The river helped her move at night. The sound of the water guided her and masked the sound of her movements. The vegetation was also thicker and more consistent giving her better protection.
On the morning of the third day, she arrived at the rendezvous point exhausted physically and mentally. The days of playing cat and mouse in the bush had taken its toll. The rendezvous point was a small opening in the woods a short distance from the river. It was deserted. She had arrived a day early and didn’t expect anyone to be there.
Following the instructions Augin had given her, Sauwa gathered nearby stones. She found a partially visible, yet inconspicuous location and started placing the stones to form an “X” with arrows pointing from two of the four ends. The marker was to be left by whoever arrived first. When the other party arrived, they would complete the formation by placing arrow tips on the other two line points establishing their identity.
Not wanting to stay exposed, she slipped into the bushes. Tired, she took advantage of her extra time and drifted into a light sleep. In the field, her mind released her from the nightmares of her past, nightmares that woke her to her own screams. She never slept deep enough in the field to have such dreams. Her nerves were too focused on the more immediate threats.
It was several hours before she caught sight of men, six in all, walking through the trees. At first, Sauwa thought them another patrol. The formation was lightly dispersed in a tactical way, and she could make out the outlines of rifles protruding from their arms. As the men came into view, she saw they weren’t soldiers, not in the general sense. They were dressed in mismatched ensembles and looked as ragged as the Croatian boys back at her camp. Nor did they possess any better field skills.
She could hear them talking in Croatian and understood some of what they were saying. She had picked up enough of the language to know it was just everyday small talk. The words, even the slang, were somewhat comprehensible. She had heard such dialogue many times at the base or when transported on a mission. These men were her contacts. They had to be. However, this was not a good place for her to be hasty. As rough and violent as they appeared, she couldn’t afford to be wrong.
Sauwa kept hidden and watched them. She held her AK-47 ready in case she needed to fight. The men were now in the clearing, mulling around lazily as if enjoying a day at a barbecue. Half the men rested their rifles over their shoulders, the rest drug them one-handed and slumped at their sides. They jabbered on, oblivious to everything except the ground below their feet, perhaps looking for something, perhaps not caring if they found it.
Finally, one of the men came across Sauwa’s cross arrows. Loudly, he beckoned everyone over. A medium sized, muscular man, sporting long hair, a thin scruff for a beard, and a well-worn extreme metal T-shirt, marched over and slapped the announcer across the face. He followed up by pressing his index finger to his lips, then flashed the command to be silent to everyone. Instantly, the rest of the men, as unordered as they were, fell silent, fearful of disobeying the Metal Man.
After his order, the environment changed from a social gathering to a silent convent.
The Metal Man looked down at Sauwa’s symbol and around the area, surveying it closely. He grumbled, knelt down and drew arrowheads at the end of the other two lines, stood up and presented himself to the trees, raising his hands as if to say, Are you happy? Then he rejoined the rest of his men who had gathered into a group several feet away.
It was not the best of circumstances, but Sauwa figured it was the best she was going to get for authenticating her contact. Taking a deep breath, she emerged from the bushes to reveal herself. To the men she could have been some monster. Wide-eyed and frantic, they grabbed for their weapons, which were inaccessible and awkwardly flopping against their bodies.
For a minute, Sauwa was sure this would end in a gun battle, until Metal Man jumped in and saved the situation, signaling his men to calm down. She was alone, Metal Man noticed. Not wanting to raise tensions, Sauwa lowered her weapon and pressed it gently against her body. Convinced that both parties were on the same side, Sauwa and Metal Man walked tentatively toward each other. Each reached into their coat pockets and pulled out a ripped piece of paper. They placed the ripped edges together to see they matched up perfectly.
Sauwa breathed a sigh of relief. These men were her contacts. She could see a similar look of relief on Metal Man’s face. He spoke to his men and the atmosphere relaxed. Then he turned back to the plant-like figure before him. “I understand you prefer English.” His speech was slightly broken but much clearer than what she was used to dealing with.
“I do,” she replied.
Metal Man hadn’t expected a woman for such a mission, but the voice he was hearing was
too feminine to be a man’s. He eyed her up and down. No, it had not been his imagination. The operative he was meeting was female. He blinked a few times trying to wrap his head around the revelation. “Are you…er…perhaps…er…with anyone?”
“No, I’m your contact,” she replied with quiet indifference. “Just me.” It was not the first time she had had such a reaction, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Metal Man scanned the bushes hoping someone else would emerge and prove to be the real contact. No one else came forward. He stared at Sauwa, reluctantly. Nothing was said for several seconds as the two eyed each other.
“We’re putting ourselves in danger just standing around in the open like this,” Sauwa broke the stalemate. “We have units of the Muslim holy warriors lurking in the area. I saw them yesterday. They’re not your ragtag militia types. They’re trained professionals. Unless you want to stay here and wait to get ambushed, let’s move out.”
Metal Man waved his men back into the trees and beckoned Sauwa to follow. She did so at a careful distance. She swept the trees both in front and behind for signs of unwanted company. Nothing stuck out in the fairly open forests, so they might have been safe for now. Though, with the incessant talking and lumbering way they moved, it was a question of how long that would last.
Still carrying their weapons haphazardly, still inattentive to their surroundings, at the direction of Metal Man, however, the group cut down on the chatter and began to spread out as they moved through the trees. Metal Man stayed in the rear close to Sauwa. She couldn’t tell if it was because he was suspicious of her or if he didn’t want her getting lost. In either case, he was one of the few in the group who was cognizant of the area around him.
At random intervals, they were met by sentries standing guard at a poorly designed observation post hidden behind a few trees and bushes. The guards called out to the patrol in Croatian, which Sauwa took for a halt and identify passcode. Metal Man replied, and the group was given leave to pass. After the better part of a half hour, the group came to a makeshift encampment.