Deep Black

76

Nothing happened. I sensed rather than heard somebody walking into the room.

Then I heard a voice like a 1950s BBC newsreader. ‘It’s all right, Nick, it’s me.’

I spun round and opened my eyes. The leather boys had stayed outside in the corridor, but Benzil was right there in front of me. His face was badly scabbed. It looked as if the slightest glimmer of a smile would crack the scabs and restart the bleeding.

He was wearing a black overcoat over a white shirt that was undone at the collar, and a white crew-neck vest. ‘It is not the first time enemies of Mr Nuhanovic have tried to kill me, and I hope it will not be the last time they fail to do so. Robert’s death, however, is a terrible price to pay.’

‘I heard them firing into the wagon.’

He lifted his hands to the sky. ‘That might have been them shooting at a very fast-moving target. By the grace of God, I got out of the car quickly and into a house. The people were very kind. It was so sudden – our security is always so tight. I believed you were our only link with the outside world, but Robert vouched for you – and, of course, you would hardly have wanted to ambush yourself.’

‘No, no idea.’

I heard Jerry rolling off the bed behind me. Benzil’s eyes moved over my shoulder. Jerry muttered, ‘Hi.’

Benzil nodded. ‘Jerry?’

‘Yes.’

Benzil had more urgent things on his mind. ‘We have to move quickly. Mr Nuhanovic wants to meet us both. The gentlemen outside are going to take us.’

‘They with Salkic?’

‘Yes. I just missed you at the mosque, but I know you attracted a lot of attention towards Mr Salkic today. As a result, I suspect that the Serb slavers have made the link between him and Nuhanovic. The situation here is dangerous now. If you could get your things together, I’ll meet you downstairs.’

Jerry stepped alongside me. ‘What about our passports? We coming back here?’

‘I’m told that’s all taken care of.’ He paused and managed just a hint of a smile. ‘Maybe you will get to take your photograph after all.’

The leather boys were anxiously scanning the landing as we came out with our kit. Their jackets were undone, pistol grips within easy reach.

Nothing was said as we walked to the lift. Jerry stared straight ahead, his hands on his bumbag, checking its contents as if he expected the camera gypsies to strike at any moment.

Down at Reception, there was another familiar face. Salkic presented us with our passports without ceremony or emotion. ‘Follow me.’

Two midnight-blue Audis with smoked glass and alloy wheels were waiting outside, engines running. Benzil was sitting in the back of the lead vehicle, his window down. His fresh-faced driver indicated, with a wave of the small radio in his hand, that we were to get into the one behind. Its boot clicked open.

The leather boys also peeled away from us to go with Benzil, one in the back beside him, the other beside the driver. Salkic climbed into the front seat of ours as we threw our bags into the boot and got into the back. A driver in his forties was at the wheel. His crewcut was just cropping out to show the grey on the sides, and his face was peppered with small scars. His stubble only grew where the skin wasn’t marked. As he ran his right hand over the wheel I could see that his index and ring finger were missing.

Jerry had recognized him too. But he didn’t look round to acknowledge us, or make eye contact in the rear-view, so we did the same.

The rain had stopped, but the heating was on. The interior smelt of new leather. Salkic and the driver were gobbing off to each other at warp speed. There was a burst of radio mush, then a voice in Serbo-Croat. Salkic pulled a Motorola two-way communicator from his pocket, the sort skiers use to keep in touch with each other on the slopes. He mumbled into it as Benzil’s vehicle pulled away and we followed.

The wet pavements glistened in the streetlights. Sarajevo was bright with neon and illuminated billboards, but appeared deserted. I couldn’t help feeling the place was all dressed up with nowhere to go. I saw a tram, but there was no other sign of life as we splashed our way out of the city.

In the driver’s footwell, tucked against the seat so it didn’t get in the way of the pedals, was an AK Para version, the same as Rob’s. A spare thirty-round magazine was taped upside down to the one loaded in the weapon. I just hoped it was there for comfort rather than necessity. There was nothing armoured about this Audi and I didn’t fancy the idea of repeating my Baghdad experience as brass-coated lead rounds ripped the tin can to bits.

‘It is a long journey.’ Salkic spoke without turning round. He didn’t sound happy with life. His eyes were glued to the road ahead, as if he was expecting an attack from a side junction at any minute.

I leaned forward between the two seats. ‘Where we going?’

‘It would mean nothing to you, and even if it did, I would not tell you. It’s better that way. Everybody either wants to kiss Hasan or kill him. I protect him from both. Those men who followed you, they do not want to kiss Hasan.’

There was more mumbling on the net and he held up his right hand in case I was about to speak. Those little Motorolas were perfect for close-up comms. They had a range of a couple of Ks, beyond which they couldn’t be listened in to, and because they didn’t produce that big a footprint it was difficult to keep track of them.

He pressed the send button and gave his answer. The front car immediately took a sharp right, but we carried on past the junction and took the next left. Salkic saw Jerry’s concern in the rear-view as the streetlights flashed by, strobing the interior. ‘For our own protection.’

I leaned forward again. ‘How long have you known Nuhanovic?’

Salkic stared ahead at the empty road. It took a while before I got an answer. ‘Hasan is a truly remarkable man.’

‘So I hear. Thank you for passing on our message.’

He stared through the perfectly cleaned windscreen, not a bug splash in sight. The Motorola crackled and he concentrated on what was being said before responding. ‘I gave him your message. He was interested to hear about you being at the cement factory.’

‘How did you come to work for him?’

He turned round very slowly and deliberately, and in the strobed light I could see that his face was set like stone. ‘I do not work for him,’ he said simply. ‘I serve him. He saved me and my sister from the aggressor when the British, the French – everyone – were just standing by and wringing their hands.’

He tapped the driver on the shoulder, waffled off to him, and he nodded and waffled back. It looked like they all felt a similar obligation.

‘Nasir says it was a shock in Baghdad when you asked about Hasan. Nasir begged him to leave the city within the hour. He, too, is always worried about security.’

Salkic faced the front again.

I took the hint and sat back. Before long we were heading out of the city and up on to the high ground. Apart from our headlights, the only light was what spilled now and again from the houses dotting the road.

We were on a metalled single carriageway that snaked its way across the ridge and down into the valley the other side.

Acouple of Ks later, I spotted tail-lights in the distance. They were static, and off to the right. Salkic got on the net and the lights began to move and rejoined the road. We soon closed up behind them.

I leaned forward. ‘Benzil?’

Salkic nodded. ‘I’m the only link to Hasan in Sarajevo. Nasir will take us only part of the way, then I alone will take you on to him.’

Nasir’s seat creaked softly as his weight shifted. There was nothing out there but inky darkness, the headlights catching the odd tree-trunk and house at the roadside as we drove past. A couple of times a scabby dog rushed out from behind one to take us on.

Jerry was doing the same as me, peering out into the night. His hands rested on the camera in his bumbag, as if he was still worried the camera gypsies were about to pounce.