Read THE HEART OF DANGER Online
Authors: Gerald Seymour
Tags: #War Crimes; thriller; mass grave; Library; Kupa; Croatia; Mowatt; Penn; Dorrie;
his friend.
He had known Milan's grandparents, Zoran and Milica, and both had
died
in the fire at the church in Glina.
He had known Evica's grandparents, Dragon and Gospava, and both had
been burned alive at the church in Glina.
He understood what he called, when he talked with his friend as they
pondered the board, 'the curse of history'. There was not, in the
village of Salika, a man, woman or child, who had not been fed, since
the dawn of understanding, the story of what had been done by the
Ustase fascists.
They sat in the kitchen, and he understood.
They were around the table and he had been given bitter coffee and
juice, and he understood.
The Priest had baptized Milan Stankovic, just as he had baptized Evica
Adamovic, and he had baptized little Marko who slept now above them.
The bayonet was on the wall. Against the leg of the table, on Milan's
side, was the automatic rifle. All of their lives, Milan and Evica
and
Marko, would have been battered by the curse of history. He thought
himself a pragmatist, thought himself a realist. It was impossible
that the curse of history should not fall upon the big shoulders,
upon
the wide face, upon the big heart of Milan Stankovic. The Priest
thought it was the curse of history that had made inevitable the
attack
on Rosenovici, the fall of Rosenovici, the butchering at Rosenov-ici.
The Priest did not apportion blame .. . But he had not gone across
the
stream, when many had gone, to watch the digging up of the grave and
the recovery of the bodies. Perhaps, he had not wished to take the
gaze of the old American, near his own age, who had come and directed
the digging .. . Milan agreed with no dispute to allocate the diesel
for the buses.
He considered Milan the best of the younger men in the village. The
best basketball player, but he no longer had time for sport. The
129
best
organizer, such as the time he had led the other men in the village
in
the flattening of a football pitch, but he no longer had time for
triviality. The best husband, but Evica walked around him as though
a
wall rose between them. Milan sat morose opposite him, his back to
the
window and the last light. The Priest thought that the curse of
history made a treadmill for the best of men, and the drive of the
treadmill was faster. Milan sat subdued opposite him, and never
turned
to look out across the stream to the corner of the field in the dusk
distance. Walking briskly on the treadmill, elected by acclamation
to
head the village militia. Jogging, and the visit to the village of
the
barbarian Arkan who was a criminal from Belgrade and who had raised
his
own force of gaol filth and who had posed in front of the War Memorial
with Milan. Running, when the attack, supported by the tanks and
artillery, had been directed on the Croat neighbours of Rosenovici.
Sprinting, when the wounded were taken from the cellar of Fran jo
and
Ivana, and he had played chess with Franjo, when the wounded were
taken
out and the girl. Pounding, when they had come with their spades
and
zipped bags and dug. Careering, when the Ustase spies had been
captured .. . The Priest did not know how Milan could go faster, and
he
did not know what would happen to him if he fell from the speeding
treadmill. The Priest offered his thanks for Milan's time, for the
promise of the diesel and Evica let him out. He walked up the lane
from Milan Stankovic's house, going slowly, but he speeded his frail
stride where a wax lamp threw light across his path. He did not wish
to see the opened window, to see if his friend sat alone in front
of
the board. It was like a bad pick-up in a bad bar. He had written
up
his notes of the day, good material. He had walked up into the old
city and bought a good meal. He had come back to the hotel, striding
and wondering what Jovic would pull on him the next day. He had taken
his key at the reception, been handed the telephone message would
he,
please, please, call Mrs. Mary Braddock crumpled it and handed it
130
back
to reception to dispose of. Earlier, he had made his own telephone
call, international, and no answer. He had gone into the bar for
a
last drink. He had ordered a beer, local, good, and cheap. He
hadn't
seen the man at first. His eye caught the clutch of journalists whose
table was covered with filled ashtrays and emptied bottles. He was
eavesdropping on them, they were back from Sarajevo and noisy. He
was
halfway down his beer when the man came off his stool and the movement
caught Penn's attention. He saw the van driver from the camp for
officer cadets, he saw the shadow shape from when he had stepped off
the pavement to give the arguing hooker better space for her
negotiation. A round full face, darting sharp eyes, close-cut fair
hair, old acne scars on the cheeks and the chin, a bulging neck above
an open white shirt and on the neck was the tattoo. A rolling swagger
walk, a small man's walk, coming from his stool with his glass in
his
hand.
"Evening, squire bit far from the old smoke .. ."
"Evening." Penn offered him nothing.
"Don't see a lot of English here mind if I join you .. . ?"
"Please yourself," Penn said coldly.
"Nice to talk English better than all this foreign jabber .. ."
Like a bad pick-up in a bad bar. He thought of when he had been in
Curzon Street, early days in the Service, close to Shepherds Market
where the girls were, when he had gone out for a sandwich at lunch
time, and he didn't think there would have been a hooker who would
not
have been ashamed at such a bad pick-up. The tattoo, close to him,
was
of the Parachute Regiment's wings. Penn didn't feel curious, only
tired. He finished his beer, but the man was in fast.
"You'll have another? "Course you will .. ." The man was leaning across the bar and flicking his fingers at the barman. "Two more
local
piss. Move it, my boy .. . Dozy buggers, right? .. . I'm Sidney
Hamilton. I get called "Ham" So, what brings you to this shit hole, 131
squire?"
"Just a bit of work," Penn said.
"Out from UK, are we, squire? I packed it in there, no future. It's all niggers there, and slit eyes, and fucking Irish .. ."
"Why were you following me?" Penn said, quietly.
"Beg pardon .. ."
"Why were you following me? Why were you listening yesterday to my conversation?"
The darting bright eyes had narrowed, focused. The new beers were
in
front of them.
"Smartarse, eh?"
"Straight question, shouldn't be too difficult to manufacture a
straight answer," Penn said.
But a diverted answer. "Just heard a word, the word triggered. You know how it is, squire? You hear a word said and you get to listen.
It's not a crime .. ."
"What was the word?"
"Rosenovici, the Croat village in Sector North, you were talking to that hag about Rosenovici .. ." "You know Rosenovici?" Penn tried to
stay casual, didn't know whether he succeeded. The confidence was
flowing again. "I know Rosenovici, hell of a battle there, big
fight.
Warrior of Principle, squire, that's me. Bad fire fight there ..
."
"You were in Rosenovici?" "The village was cut off. They'd brought tanks up, T-54s, wicked bloody things. They'd got the old Stalin's
organ, that's the multiple rocket launcher .. ." "Were you in the village?" "They had artillery up there, howitzers. There was right shit going in there .. ." "You were there?" "Well, I wasn't actually
.. ." "Where were you?" The eyes darted away. "I wasn't actually there, would have been minced if I was there. We were close up. We'd
been sent in to make contact with our guys who'd legged it into the
132
woods. We had a corridor open for them to get out through. We had
it
on the radio. We had it on the radio when they signed off, put the
flag up. I was near there .. ." "Not actually there?" "Near there, last week .. ." "Walked into Sector North?" "Didn't take the bloody Central line. "Course I bloody walked. Recce job. It's bad shit
in
there. We lost two guys .. . These fuckers, they've no bottle. We
had
two guys wounded but the other fuckers wouldn't stop for them, bottled
out. No lie, I saw them killed. Their throats were slit. They used
knives on them. I couldn't do anything because the other fuckers
had
bottled out .. ." "You can walk into Sector North?" The man was drinking faster, and flicking his fingers for the barman, and
shovelling the banknotes onto the bar. "If you know what you're at, which I do. Know where to cross the Kupa river, know where the mines
are, which I do, and the strong points .. . He's a bad bastard in
there, he's the commander of the militia. He's at the village across
the stream from Rosenovici. He's Milan Stankovic. He did it himself,
used the knife. I could have dropped him, if the other fuckers hadn't
bottled out .. ." Penn felt the pinch in his stomach. He swayed,
slightly, on his stool. He held tight to his glass. '.. . Say,
squire, you know where Nagorno Karabakh is? Where the hell is that
fucking place?" Penn said, "It's a bit left of here. You know those little globes that kiddies have, where you put a pencil in the top
to
sharpen it, well on one of those it's about a half-inch to the left."
"You pissing on me, squire .. . ?" "It's the other side of Turkey."
"I heard there was a good little war there. I heard they wanted good men. Could be South Africa, security, but there's all those niggers.
This is just fucked up here .. ." "Why did you follow me, Ham?" "Who said I bloody Penn cut him. "An answer to my question, Ham why did you
follow me?" Like a ball being punctured. The bombast of the man
went
flat. He was standing, off the stool, and he was pulling a thin
wallet
from his hip. The photograph in the pouch of the wallet was of a
skinny little woman, brunette, and the woman was holding a child in
a
party frock. "It's Karen, and that's Dawn, my little one." "Why me?"
"You're a bloody gumshoe, you're a dick. That's what you are, a
private detective." Then the story rolled. An old photograph, yes.
She'd done a runner, yes. She'd taken the kiddie, yes. No contact
133
and
letters sent back "Not Known at this Address', yes. And he was far from home and when the bullshit was turned off then he wanted the
love
of his woman and his kiddie, yes. A lonely boring little man, yes.
He
wanted them found, his Karen and his Dawn, yes .. . Penn would not
have
known the answers before he had gone to work at Alpha Security. He
had
had his share already, bombastic men coming up the stairs to the
office
above the launderette, showing a photograph of a woman and a kiddie,
and wanting them found .. . Basil had told him that looking for a
woman
who had quit with a child was a "Go Careful Area'. Basil had said
it
was necessary to go carefully or the woman might end up in the casualty
section ... He looked into the woman's face, knotted, and the child's
face, strained. He took an address, a police station in Karlovac,
he
wrote down a telephone number. He was told to ask for 2nd Bn, 110
(Karlovac) Brigade, then for "Ham', everybody would know Ham. He
looked a last time at the photograph, then gave it back. "You didn't tell me your name, squire .. ." Penn eased off his stool. "I'll be in
touch, maybe."
Eight.
"Yes, I saw her .. ." It was Jovic's success. The tram ride out to
the west of Zagreb, through the old quarter, then out amongst the
apartment blocks of the capital's new suburbs. Jovic's success had
brought them to the end of the tram route, to where the track ended.
Jovic had said that the wood huts used by the construction workers
of
the last block to be built were now a refugee camp. To Penn it was
a
desperate place. There had been rain in the night and the puddles
glistened in the first sunlight of the morning. The road to the camp
would have been gouged out by heavy plant equipment. He stepped
carefully, but the mud gathered at the caps of his cleaned shoes.
There were children here, but too beaten to play with a football,
there
were men standing listless and watching their coming. The place had
134
its own aggression. He had seen small gardens carved out of the rubble
at the edge of the camp, and thin thorn bushes had been planted round
the plots, pitiful little efforts to make a home in a refugee camp.
The huts were for communal living. They walked inside, carried more
rainwater and mud inside, as others had done before, then into the