Deep Black

75

Jerry put the Thuraya and camera on charge while I looked in all the drawers for a Yellow Pages or directory, but there wasn’t one. The Gideons hadn’t been to visit, either.

The room was freezing so I kept my plastic coat on and pulled a couple of small bottles of Italian pear juice from the minibar. I looked through the rain-streaked window. Two Blackhawks hovered above the city, disappearing now and again into the grey clouds.

‘Here’s the score.’ I lobbed a bottle at him and he gave it a shake. ‘There are three things that might happen to us. One, we get a visit from Salkic, which hopefully will be with a smile. Two, we get a visit from the flat tops, and I imagine that won’t be. Three, we get fuck-all visits, in which case we go and find Salkic at the mosque again tomorrow, and we follow him. If he doesn’t turn to, we’ll have to check phone books, ask around, try to track him down. Then we find out how he makes contact with Nuhanovic, and hopefully we find out where Nuhanovic is – then you get your picture and maybe I get to find out who killed Rob. After that, well, I’m going back to Baghdad. Maybe kill whoever killed Rob, then get a job on the circuit. Why not? Got fuck-all else to do.’

We twisted the caps off the bottles. Jerry had gone quiet again: maybe he didn’t like me talking about killing. It was time to get off the subject.

‘If we get lifted by the flat tops tonight we’re going to have to think on our feet, big-time. There’s no way out of here except by jumping on to the coffee-bar canopy, just like in those Jackie Chan movies.’

Jerry gave a nervous laugh. He didn’t fancy plummeting straight through the canvas and ending up bent round the cappuccino machine any more than I did. But if the wrong guys came calling, it might be the only option. ‘If we do get away and have to split, we’ll meet in the car park by the Romeo and Juliet bridge, OK? Wait there for two hours. If I don’t turn up, you’re on your own. I’ll do the same if I’m there first. You got that?’

Jerry nodded calmly enough, but I knew he was flapping. I patted his shoulder. ‘Listen, I doubt that’ll happen. If it’s Nuhanovic the flat tops want, they’ll wait and see if we lead them to him.’

I got up and went over to the window. It was now dark and headlights pierced the rain along Snipers’ Alley. ‘Well, I think the condemned men deserve to have their last meal, don’t you?’

Jerry smiled and reached for the bedside phone. He ordered us both the house special, Sarajevo burger and chips, and loads of extra bread and red sauce for the butties.

‘Tell them to call us when they bring the food up. Say we’re both going to be in the bath, and you want to make sure one of us is able to get the door.’

The last thing I wanted was to open up for what we thought was room service, and get a trolleyload of flat top-with-Goatee instead.

Jerry rang Reception, found out the time of first prayers, and booked a five thirty call. I imagined we’d be the only ones there. Salkic hadn’t looked the sort who’d be in the mosque before daybreak, but I could be wrong and we had to be prepared.

Both of us stayed as we were, fully dressed, boots on, kit packed and ready to go. I lay on the bed with my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling. Jerry got up, grabbed the remote from the top of the TV and started to channel-hop. I watched the screen, not thinking about much, just picking at the scabs on my hand. I’d known I wouldn’t be able to resist it for long.

Jerry rested the remote on his stomach as he pressed the buttons and the screen flickered from station to station. We finally settled for Law and Order, just the way we liked it: dubbed into German, with Serbo-Croat subtitles. We didn’t have a clue what was going on. Everybody nodded a lot, pointed at dead bodies lying on the floor, and jumped in and out of cars by hot-dog stalls.

The phone rang and Jerry answered. The food was on its way.

I checked the spyhole and saw the waiter leaning over the trolley. No Goatee. I opened up. He came and laid everything out on the table, took the two-euro tip I offered him, and left.

We tucked into our Sarajevo burgers and chip butties, downed the Cokes, and went back to watching TV. Our favourite channel ran out of steam after midnight, and we lay on our beds reading. Jerry had a Herald Tribune he’d bought at the airport in Vienna. I just scanned the label on the back of my Coke can a few hundred times.

We put the lights out at about one in the morning but Jerry carried on channel-surfing. We watched Baghdad and Fallujah getting the good news from a few RPGs and a handful of suicide bombers on BBC World, then moved on to a German news quiz. I scored one point for recognizing David Hasselhoff in the picture round.

There was a gentle knock on the door. In the glow of the TV screen, Jerry and I exchanged a glance. Too late for room service to be collecting the dirties.

He turned the sound down with the remote, we both sat up and I hit the bedside light. His eyes were bouncing between me and the door, trying to see through it. He bit his lip. There was another knock, a little louder this time.

I got to my feet, checking my bumbag to make sure it was secure round my waist. Jerry started to get his on as well.

Through the spyhole, I could see a couple of new, serious-looking faces dressed by World of Leather. Their heads were close enough to kiss the lens.

I glanced back at Jerry. He stood there, checking the zip on his bumbag one last time before nodding a ‘ready’.

I hoped he was right: I suddenly had the feeling that he’d be better off strapping on some body armour and making ready a decent-sized assault rifle. Just because these were new faces, it didn’t mean they belonged to Nuhanovic.

There was only one way to find out. I slipped off the chain and turned the handle.

I took a couple of quick steps back into the room, then turned and tensed, ready to take the hit. The horror on Jerry’s face was plain to see. He fell back on to the bed and curled up in a ball.

I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and waited.