The Bosnian Experience

by J E Higgins

  Sauwa had two seconds to consider how much Oleg knew of Victor’s deal before the piercing sound of multiple guns went off from the direction of the fishing boat. Shortly after, blood-curdling screams joined in with the gun fire, a sound she was all too familiar with.

  Drawing her pistol, she moved for the door when she felt something hard smack her across the side of the face. She dropped to the ground dazed. The next feeling was an equally powerful blow knocking her pistol out of her hand. She rolled over. Oleg stood over, desperate. She turned retrieve her weapon. Victor snatch it up. The grizzled man, Victor, and Oleg pinned her to the dirt-caked floor boards.

  The gunfire and screams continued.

  “Oleg, the others!” She cried as she attempted to get up and was quickly forced down by Victor’s strong hands gripping her arms. Her Bergen prevented him from getting her all the way onto her back.

  “The others are dead,” Oleg knelt down on her lower body, pressing on her legs that were kicking like scissors. “They always were dead.”

  “That’s bullshit. That’s the line of a two-bit smuggler.”

  “I’m done with this fucking war,” Oleg growled. “I’m taking my payday, and I’m going my own way.”

  “The camp, your people; they are depending on what you bring back. You can’t just abandon them.”

  Oleg’s face went from cold to dismal. “There’s no one to abandon.”

  She processed his words, trying to piece together what he was telling her.

  “A few days after we left, the Bosnians began a purging campaign. It has been well reported and received a great deal of attention. We were in too remote of an area to find out about it until we got to Ploce. When we got on the boat, Victor showed me the newspapers. The Bosnians found our camp.” Oleg stared at her, his eyes accusing. “You taking out the Iranian, all our training and preparation. None of it mattered. They killed everyone.”

  He choked on the last words. A high pitched laugh escaped him, then he pulled himself together. “So you see there is nothing to go back to. And the others? I’m sparing them the pain of having to find out all their loved ones are dead.”

  Sauwa felt sick to her stomach. She began to breathe hard.

  For all his emotion, Oleg kept a tight hold of her legs. “After Victor told me what had happened, I decided I was done. I’m taking these guns and enjoying my split.”

  “How far do you think you’re going?” Sauwa growled through her teeth. “That’s not a large amount of hardware, hardly enough to live well.”

  “Oh, you’re right,” the grizzled man chimed in casually. “Market value, I would offer maybe seventy thousand U.S. for the lot. On the other hand, I found you. The infamous Sauwa Catcher, the Apartheid’s most lethal assassin, and covert operator and one of the Croatian army’s most gifted mercenaries. You are in high demand, young lady. There are certain interested parties that would like to have your services at their disposal and are willing to pay handsomely to have you delivered. For that, I’m paying well over half a million in U.S. dollars to these two fine gentlemen.”

  Sauwa’s mind was awash with fear and outrage. The men had her pinned. They had her pistol. Her rifle was on the boat, a boat now loaded with bodies of the men she had been hired to protect. She had never felt so helpless.

  Together, Oleg and Victor rolled her over onto her stomach and tore off her Bergen. Her face scraped against the floor. She managed to ram a heel into someone’s thigh. She wrestled, and made it as hard as possible for them, but it was useless.

  “Check her sleeves,” the grizzled man ordered. A quick check showed she had no knife or other sharp objects. Satisfied she was clean of weapons, Victor held her hands as Oleg bound her wrists. Once restrained, she was hoisted to her feet.

  The grizzled man led the way holding her Bergen. The two cousins escorted her out the door.

  The screaming had ceased with it the gunfire. The night was deadly silent. Heartsick and defeated, she walked without resisting in the direction of the boat where the guerrillas had been.

  Another vessel, one slightly larger than Victor’s fishing boat, had pulled up alongside it. On the docks, several figures were managing the corpses of the dead guerrillas. One by one, they dropped the bodies into the water as casually as throwing out the daily trash. Smolesk, left until last, looked like a stitched doll sprawled out near the water, his wild hair matted to his face. His mustache dripped red.

  Behind her, she heard Oleg heaving about to vomit. A few curt words from Victor put a stop to that.

  “You going to be able to live with this, Oleg?” she asked through gritted teeth.

  “Half a million dollars, I’m sure, will ease his conscience,” the grizzled man said indifferently. He accepted a large canvas bag from one of his men posted on the vessel. He handed the bag to Victor, who bowed with gratitude as he took the bag and walked away.

  “You should know you have their blood on you as well,” Oleg whispered into her ear. “If you had considered taking Micha with you, I would have spared him and had him come with us tonight. Think about that.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, asshole.” Sauwa responded with a disgusted look.

  Two of the men who had been disposing of the bodies marched over to the grizzled man. On his orders, they grabbed Sauwa and forcefully escorted her up the walkway onto the mysterious ship. The grizzled man followed closely behind.

  Sauwa took one last look at the men who betrayed those he had called his friends. The cousins reached their own boat. Oleg never once looked back. With Victor’s arm wrapped around him, they vanished into the night.

  28

  Shoved through a door that led inside the grizzled man’s boat, Sauwa was steered down a narrow walkway. The boat wasn’t lavish, but it was well lit, clean, and more accommodating than the fishing cruiser.

  Brought to a thick oak door secured with a reinforced lock, she was made to stand there while the grizzled man fumbled with some keys. The door opened, and she was ushered inside.

  It was a relatively nice, warm, and well-appointed cabin, not the makeshift accommodations she had become accustomed to. Her two escorts rotated her until she was face-to-face with a large, gruff-looking woman in her fifties with the same salt and pepper hair as the grizzled man, who was standing right behind her.

  “This is Katia,” the grizzled man began. “You need to be watched, and since I have only men working for me, I asked Katia to accompany me on this voyage. There are times a woman is needed to negotiate the complicated matters that you present.”

  “I will make sure the men don’t see you in compromising situations and make sure you cannot play such situations to your advantage,” Katia said sternly. She towered over Sauwa and, by her athletic frame and stance, it was an easy guess that she was not simply a housekeeper, a governess, or a babysitter. More than likely, she had been an operative of some kind. And one who was more than able to deal with another skilled female assassin if it came to one on one.

  The grizzled man had planned well and chosen his people wisely.

  “We’re going to untie you, little one,” Katia said in a commanding tone. “When we do, you will undress. When you are down to your underwear, they will take your clothes, and I will finish your search myself.”

  “Search?” Sauwa did not like what she was hearing.

  “Or, if you wish to be difficult, I can conduct a search of your body cavities in front of all these men. I’m sure they would enjoy the show very much.” Katia was making it clear she was in no mood for any nonsense or protests.

  Sauwa nodded.

  Katia waved her hand, and one of the men came around behind Sauwa with a knife. The cold steel against her wrists sent a shiver up her spine. When the rope snapped, and her hands were free, she let them fall to her sides. With the older woman’s approval, she raised her hands and began to undress. In seconds, her clothes were in pile on the floor, and she was standing in nothing but her bra and panties.

  At the gri
zzled man’s direction, the two men gathered up her clothes and exited the room followed by the grizzled man. He shut the door behind him leaving the two ladies alone. Katia performed a thorough search of her bottom, vaginal area and finally her mouth ─ unpleasant, to say the least. Naked, Sauwa was marched off to a bathroom and shower area.

  “I want you looking like a young lady when you get done,” Katia quipped and pointed to a collection of female hygienic and grooming paraphernalia.

  The older woman stood by watching as Sauwa entered the shower. She remained present, directing the ritual of Sauwa’s grooming: shaving her legs, under her arms, and applying creams and lotions. When she finished and met Katia’s approval, she was escorted back into the main room where a simple t-shirt and silk shorts awaited her on the bed.

  “This is it?” Sauwa asked, shocked at the skimpy garments.

  “You’re a prisoner who is worth a great deal of money,” Katia said. “Injuring you would destroy your worth and cost us our investment. This way, you can’t hide weapons, and you have limited places you can go. Now get dressed. Dinner will be here shortly. If you don’t fight us, we will try to make this trip painless. Fight us, and I won’t injure you, but I can make this trip very unpleasant. Do something that costs us our investment, and I’ll drown you.”

  Dinner was a meal of bland vegetables, fruits, and a small portion of meat. Starved, Sauwa devoured the meal. When she was finished, she was escorted back into the washroom where she brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash. Then it was back into the bedroom.

  “What now?” Sauwa asked, unsure what the tightly controlled regimen entailed next. She received no answer. Her eyes grew heavy and her knees grew weak.

  The last thing she felt was the strong hands of her watchdog directing her onto the bed. The soft wool blanket felt pleasant as she lost consciousness.

  She awoke to the strange sound of a man singing over an intercom from a good distance away. Raising her head, she felt as if a cinder block had crushed her skull. Slowly she stirred from her bed, the singing rang quickly realized it was an Islamic prayer. Where was she? This question went through her pounding head, rattling her teeth.

  It was an Islamic prayer. Where was she?

  “Get dressed,” a woman’s curt voice took her by surprise. Swinging around, Sauwa saw Katia sitting next to her bed. “I trust you slept well.”

  When Sauwa didn’t say anything, Katia cleared her throat. “Your dinner was drugged. I decided you would be easier to handle if you slept the whole way.

  Feeling violated, Sauwa swallowed her protest. It would be futile and waste her limited energy.

  Katia threw a pile of folded clothes onto the bed. “Wash up, then get dressed.” Like last time, Sauwa went about the choreographed ritual demanded by her tender. Then, dressed in a pair of tan cargo pants, grey T-shirt, a blue jacket, and a pair of tan tactical boots, she tied her hair up in a loose pile behind her head leaving a few strands to dangle about the side of her face. Once finished, Katia escorted her out the door.

  “Where are we?”

  On the deck of the boat. They were met by a warm breeze. Sauwa looked around and gaped at the massive city. The architecture, the smells, the earlier singing: she figured was somewhere in the Middle-East.

  “Welcome to Izmir,” the grizzled man said, appearing from out of nowhere. “We’re on the coast of Turkey ─ your new home.”

  “Turkey?” her aching mind raced.

  “Come, shall we.” The grizzled man waved his hand toward the gangplank. She noticed he was holding her Bergen and wondered if he had gone through it. He seemed to be enjoying every minute of holding such power over her.

  As instructed, she walked down the gangplank and came over the bow where a sleek, black limousine parked next to the boat. She touched the asphalt, and the grizzled man’s hand pushed her firmly toward the car.

  The back door of the limousine opened and out stepped a well-dressed man in a black tailored suit. It was difficult to determine his age with all the salon work, but she guessed he was in his late forties to mid-fifties. His features were soft yet, despite his manicured hands and expensive haircut, he bore signs of a man who had seen some hard living, a man with considerable military experience, a man who would be dangerous to underestimate in a fight.

  This prince walked up to her and, through his shiny black sunglasses, looked her over. Sauwa felt like a farm animal at an auction. He then acknowledged the grizzled man who greeted him as if he really were royalty.

  Grizzled man handed Sauwa’s Bergen over while speaking in a language Sauwa recognized as Russian. Taking the Bergen the prince rummaged through it, paying no attention to the displeased look on her face. Giving a satisfied nod to the grizzled man, he handed her Bergen to another underling who had emerged from the front seat of the limo. The attendant took the Bergen and returned to the vehicle leaving his employer alone with Sauwa.

  Minutes later the attendant appeared again carrying a leather satchel. He handed the satchel to the prince, and the prince handed it to the grizzled man, who snatched it up eagerly and opened it. With a quick look inside, the grizzled man nodded several times in appreciation as he spoke again in Russian. Then, with a sharp turn on his heels, the grizzled man raced back to his boat.

  “Ms. Catcher,” the princely man now spoke English. “I imagine this is all very overwhelming for you.”

  “Who, are you?” That was all she could manage to say.

  “I’m Andre Valikov,” the prince said. “I’m a former officer of the defunct Soviet army. Now I’m an entrepreneur…and your new employer.”

  29

  Pretoria South Africa:

  It was a strange moment for David O’knomo when he received a sudden invitation to join Charles Goodings for lunch at the British embassy. Goodings’ official title in the country was Deputy Cultural Director for the British diplomatic mission in South Africa. It was well known that he was the liaison to the South African intelligence community.

  That Goodings had knowledge of O’knomo and his team was not surprising. The mission of pursuing the infamous Apartheid assassin, Sauwa Catcher and the other members of the so-called Dark Chamber, had become of great interest to the British government after they had learned the extent of the unit’s activities in their country.

  The British took particular interest in Miss Catcher because she had been a highly productive assassin on their shores. Her status as a target was heightened a year before when she was on the run in Ireland and left a trail of a dozen bodies within a two day period before disappearing. This was a huge embarrassment for both the British and Irish governments. Afterward, the high ranking leadership in those intelligence communities determined that bringing the young femme fatale to justice was a priority if not a matter of honor.

  When O’knomo entered the offices of the British High Commission on Hill Street, he was accompanied by Jamie Nawati, his right-hand man. He was not surprised to find a young woman waiting for him. O’knomo wasn’t sure why he was being summoned by someone who normally engaged with the director level of leadership for his organization. He had assumed the lunch was a means to informally inquire about what information the South Africans had regarding the Sauwa Catcher pursuit. Based on her recent disappearance from Bosnia, they had suspected she had gone back to her old hunting grounds in Africa.

  The young woman made quick introductions before leading the two men through the lobby, past security, and up a flight of stairs. They entered a large office lined with old turn of the century polished wood furniture. In the far corner sitting behind a large oak desk, sat Charles Goodings. His neatly trimmed silver hair and slightly lined face gave him the appearance of a man who enjoyed a mixture of adventure and good living.

  Rising from his elegant leather chair, the old spy smiled as he moved around from behind his desk to where the two younger men stood. He gave them both a firm handshake and politely dismissed the young woman. “Gentlemen,” he began, a thin smile on his fac
e. “Thank you for coming. Would you please sit down?” He led them to a small meeting table that stood in the center of the room.

  As asked, the two Africans took seats on one side of the table. Goodings grabbed a briefcase from his desk then slid into a chair directly across from his guests.

  “I take it this will not be an eating lunch,” O’knomo quipped. He watched the Englishman open his briefcase and produce a thin manila folder that he promptly placed on the table in front of them.

  “No, Mr. O’knomo, this is not,” Goodings replied dryly. “This is cutting through the red tape in furtherance of a mutual goal. And, that goal is the eventual capture of Sauwa Catcher, the little psychopath your country created.”

  “I don’t understand?” O’knomo said looking first at the Englishman and then at his colleague, Nawati. He thought perhaps he had missed something in the conversation.

  Goodings shook his head. “Your government talks about open dialogue when it comes to information sharing. Yet, we find that you’re still an operation as steeped in the toils of gradual change as the old government bureaucracy mixing with the intelligence elements of the former rebel groups. As a result, we find the higher echelons of your intelligence community is in utter chaos. So, after some discussion with my own superiors, we decided to come directly to you.”

  “What exactly are you coming to us for?” Nawati finally spoke up.

  “Yes, what? If this is because you believe Sauwa Catcher is in Africa, and we aren’t telling you…“ O’knomo protested but was cut off.

  “We know she was in Bosnia a few weeks ago,” Goodings cut in. “We know that because the imagery of the location had caught pictures of her that we forwarded to you. She was in central Bosnia working for a French mercenary, one Maurice Augin. Then she suddenly dropped out of sight.”

  “This we already know,” O’knomo stated still unsure about where this conversation was going.