Read THE HEART OF DANGER Online
Authors: Gerald Seymour
Tags: #War Crimes; thriller; mass grave; Library; Kupa; Croatia; Mowatt; Penn; Dorrie;
slitting the throats of old friends and former neighbours .. ."
"I understand, sir."
"What I am trying to do, with my piss-poor intellect, is create some sort of cease-fire so that the killing stops. Are you following me?"
"Very clearly."
"I have these war crimes groupies fucking about in my backyard. At the
moment they are little more than a nuisance, but each day they're
here,
each day they dig their hole deeper, so their power of sabotage
increases .. ."
"I appreciate that, sir."
"Let me tell you something, in confidence. Right now, this week,
there
is a meeting in Budapest between Croat bureaucrats and Serb
bureaucrats. There is a meeting scheduled tomorrow in Detroit, out
of
the limelight, between a Croatian constitutional lawyer and a Serb
with
the same education. Two days ago, in Athens, there wound up a session
involving Bosnian Muslims and Serbs .. . Thank Christ, those bloody
journalists down in Sarajevo and Belgrade and Zagreb are too
preoccupied with getting hero medals on the front lines, they don't
know the half of what's being worked .. ."
The First Secretary knew of all three meetings, and disguised his
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knowledge. "Small mercies."
"Under the fucking carpet, we are working night and day for a
cease-fire, and talk of war crimes tribunals is an obstruction.
Shit,
the Serbs have monsters in their ranks, but so do the Croats,
so do the Bosnian Muslims. Everybody in this mess is guilty. If
an
alleged war criminal is kidnapped and brought out of Sector North
then
I can kiss goodbye to a cease-fire, most especially if they also bring
out an eyewitness. Got me? For six months now I have oiled these
bastards towards talking with each other .. . You know what, you
should
see them. Get a Croat and a Serb together in a quiet hotel with a
bar,
and you sure as hell wouldn't know they've been beating double shades
of shit out of each other. They want a deal. They laugh together,
drink together, probably go looking for tail together. They want
out
.. ."
"I wouldn't wish you to think that my government in any way condones the action of this freelancer, quite the opposite .. ."
"And who will believe you?"
There might have been a microphone in the room. Best to assume there
were microphones recording the conversation. The First Secretary
spoke
softly. "Which is why I brought you the information, which is why
we
will do our damnedest to make certain no alleged war criminal is
brought out from Sector North. I think we are running on the same
rails. It won't happen .. ."
The face of the Director lightened, as if he were now amused. "But it
was your Prime Minister who called for tribunals .. ."
"Should never pay too much attention to political ramblings."
"And this Penn, interfering fucking nobody, he's your man .. ."
The First Secretary was smiling. "Pity that he didn't stay home.
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I
met him. Not very impressive, but he's been caught up in the emotion
of the place. Capable in a technical sense, but not very bright.
Capable enough, perhaps, to make it back to the Kupa river, but not
bright enough to see the implications of his actions. If he takes
his
man then we'll hear about it ... As you know better than me, the dust
sheets will be coming off the artillery pieces and the cladding will
be
off the ground-to-ground missiles that can reach southern Zagreb.
They
might even get to loading up ... I don't think they'd fire unless
this
wretched clerk from Salika village is actually out of their
territory.
Penn will not be allowed to cross the river with his prisoner, I
thought you should know."
He saw the spreading astonishment crack the Director's face. "You'd see him go to the wall, your man?"
The First Secretary had served one tour, two years, in Dublin as a
junior Six person covered by diplomatic status. He thought he knew
the
southern Irish. He thought they reckoned that the British were
always
totally devious, quite ruthless. Well .. .
"He's not our man."
Everything of note, everything sensitive to his work, Marty had
locked
away in the floor safe. He was checking his shopping list and beside
him as he stood was the howl of the mains-powered electric drill.
They
were cheerful young guys, the two Swedish soldiers with the drill,
perhaps carpenters or engine mechanics back home before their turn
in
the armed forces. When they had made the deep screw sockets in the
floor they would fix down the metal ring that he had demanded. They
did not ask him why he wanted a metal ring fastened to the floor of
the
converted freight container, and he would not have told them the
reason
for it. He checked his list, carefully typed out.
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1 Bed (collapsible).
1 Sleeping bag, plus blanket.
Food: Bread, margarine, jam, sliced ham, sausage, milk
(3 lit res 1 Hotel room reservation (KD eyewitness).
1 Chain (4 metres).
2 Padlocks (2 keys each).
1 pair Handcuffs (2 keys).
He told the Swedish soldiers that they should close the door when
they
had finished fastening the ring in the floor. The ring would hold
a
padlock, the padlock would hold a chain, the chain would hold a second
padlock, the second padlock would hold a pair of handcuffs, the pair
of
handcuffs would hold a war criminal. Marty Jones had told anyone
who
would listen since he had come to Zagreb that it was the means that
were important, not the end. He reckoned himself entitled to change
his mind. He said to the Swedes that he would be out for the rest
of
the afternoon, gone shopping.
The sun was lowering behind the trees, edging for the summit crest
of
the hillside. The woodland that blanketed the long valley steamed
from
the heat of the day, and now there was the first freshness from the
coming of the evening.
They were past the skeletons, un cared for and untouched since he
had
last seen them, and he had watched the control settle on Ulrike's
face
as if the refugees shot down were not a part of her business. The
way
she had gone by the skeletons told him of her strength ... So small,
so
fragile, so bloody strong ... He had pointed down to the swaddled
bodies of the babies and Ulrike had not flinched, and he had felt
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the
tears welling in his eyes.
He no longer held her hand. He felt his trust for her. Down from
the
trees, below in the width of the valley, he could hear the drive of
two
tractor engines, but the tractors and the fields were still masked
from
them by the thickness of the trees' foliage.
When they came to the minefield, to the needle lengths of wire rising
up through the leaf carpet, he broke the rule that he had made for
himself. He spoke. He told her of the cat, and he swayed his hips
to
show the way that the cat had eased itself against the antennae of
the
mines, just for a moment of lightness, almost of clowning. Then he
caught a grip on himself .. . This was no bloody place to go clowning.
But if they didn't laugh they would cry, and if they cried they would
be broken .. . They pushed on.
She went easily. She could have been on a forest ramble. Ulrike
would
know the reality because she took in the refugees. She would know
they
were moving into the eye of the storm.
The stream was silver and black between the trees.
They stopped still. They stood against a wide oak's trunk and they
could see beyond the stream to the orchard blossoms and the smoke
wreath above the chimneys of Salika. Gold light fell on the valley.
They saw two old tractors moving in the fields across the stream.
The
one spread manure and the other ploughed. And across the stream they
saw a man and a child walking away from the village and Penn shuddered.
He did not need to tell her .. . Milan Stankovic held the child's
hand
and he carried on his shoulder two fishing rods and a landing net.
Milan and the child were coming away from the village and were walking
on the far bank of the stream past the silver spate water towards
a
dark slow pool.
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They had a plan.
The plan dictated that, first, they should find the eyewitness.
He estimated the village was a mile from the pool and the tractors
were
half a mile from Milan Stankovic and his boy.
Ulrike understood the dilemma. She said, "You must have the
eyewitness
first. You must."
"It is our opportunity."
"The eyewitness is evidence. Evidence is necessary.
"We get the eyewitness ..." As if she were speaking to a juvenile.
"They have not even begun .. . They will be there when we want them to
be there .. . Penn, you have to be cruel."
He was looking at the child who skipped along beside his father and
he
could faintly hear the excited squeals of the child who held his
father's hand.
They went back into the depth of the trees, where the trunks were
set
closer. He looked twice into her face to see if the sight of the
target man had changed her, if the sight of the child with the target
man disturbed her, and he saw nothing but a chilled and steadfast
determination. They pushed on. They moved now in short rushes. He
would select a big tree ahead, and he would go fast to it and hug
against it, and she would come to him, and they would wait, would
listen, and he would choose the next tree. He recognized that he
made
more noise than she did, that his feet were heavier and his footfall
clumsier. He could see the jagged rooftops of Rosenovici .. .
Back to Dome's place, back again into Dorrie's war ... He could see
through the trees the broken tower of the church, and he could see
the
lane that led to Katica Dubelj's hovel home. He caught at Ulrike's
arm
when she came light-stepped to him, and his hand was across his mouth
to demand her silence and he pointed to the grey-black smear of the
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earth among the weeds in the corner of the field .. . and he seemed
to
hear again the horrid young woman, laughing at him, mocking him. It
was a madness, and it was for her, and her laughter clamoured in his
mind.
They came to the path that climbed the hill slope behind the village
that had died. He could have turned then, when he came to the path.
He saw the worn mess of the path, mud stamped by boots. He remembered
how the path had been, covered in fallen and undisturbed leaves. At
that point he could have gone back into the wood. He went at the
side
of the path. He came to the mouth of the cave where the grass was
broken, where the boots had gathered. He took the small torch from
the
backpack side pouch. Ulrike's hand was on his arm, holding tight
to
him, as if to give him courage. He stood in the entrance of the cave.
He shone the torch beam forward and from the dark recess twin lights,
amber, blazed back at him. The beam found the cat, wide-eyed,
crouched
on the rag bundle, snarling at the light. He saw the parchment skin
of
the face of Katica Dubelj and he saw the darkened slashes of the
knives' work. He saw the cat was across her stomach and past the
cat's
tail were the spindle-thin legs of Katica Dubelj and the long black
material of her dress was forced up to her waist and he saw the white
death of the skin of her thighs. He swung the light away, away from
the cat who guarded her. He reeled out of the cave. Ulrike held
him.
"It is what they always do. They violate old women. They rape old women. Perhaps you are responsible, Penn." "Don't .. ." "Every time,
for the rest of your life, that you take a woman to your bed .. .
Perhaps it was you that led them to her, Penn." "Don't say that ..
."
"Every time you take a woman to your bed, for warmth and for love,
you
will remember her ... It is what you have to live with here, Penn,
your
responsibility." "Don't let me hear you say that .. ." "Because you
are not man enough to hear it? It's not boys' games ... It is about
survival ... It is about the code of living that you believe in ...
You
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do not have an eyewitness, so you have to take him and you have to
make
him convict himself. Are you strong enough to make him convict
himself?
"I have to be .. ."
"And he has the child with him .. . Are you strong enough?"
She had walked the city all of the afternoon, not shopping and not
window gazing, but a restless striding, as if walking the streets