The Russian Deception

CHAPTER 14

Morning sun streamed through the windows in the lobby of the hotel in Debar. The day was clear, the sky a pure blue that could have been painted by Michelangelo. The temperature had warmed to around fifty. Selena came away from the reception desk where she'd been talking with the day clerk. She held a tourist map in her hand.

"I told him we wanted to find a place where we could shoot some background information about the city and its people. There's an outdoor market that sells just about everything, not too far from here."

She pointed at a spot marked on the map.

"It's a park with a square. It's Saturday and the clerk says everybody goes there on a Saturday morning to trade or buy or sell. If there are any rumors about what happened in Skopje, it's a good bet we'll hear them there."

"Looks like it's a mile or so from here," Nick said. "We'll take the car."

Debar was located in a spectacular setting, surrounded by towering mountains covered with evergreens. The population of ten thousand made it a good-sized town. Snow was piled along the sides of the narrow streets. The pavement glistened with melting runoff.

Competing spires of mosques and churches dotted the roofline. The town was picturesque in an old Europe, postcard way. The photogenic buildings and people hid a dark reality of poverty and hardship that most tourists never thought about.

They drove up a hill past a mosque and reached the park with the market. Nick squeezed the VW into a spot and they got out. Ronnie and Lamont took a steady cam and a recorder out of the trunk, part of their cover.

Lamont held up the camera. "Lamont Cameron, ace reporter. This baby ought to take some great pictures."

"You actually know how to work it?" Ronnie asked.

"I know this high tech stuff is a little hard for you to grasp, my man, but don't worry. I've got it covered."

"Yeah, I can see that. It might help if you took the cap off the lens," Ronnie said.

"You guys want to focus on why we're here?" Nick said.

The market sprawled out over the park. People had placed tarps on the wet ground or brought folding tables to display their goods. It seemed as though there was a little bit of everything for sale. One corner was devoted to winter vegetables. They looked scrawny, unappetizing, a far cry from what you found in a Western supermarket. Women in shawls and long dresses huddled together around a fire burning in a barrel.

As they started to work their way through the market, Selena's use of the language brought smiles and an occasional correction. She asked people how they were doing, if they were selling well today, what did they think about what had happened in the capital. As soon as she mentioned the bombing the smiles disappeared. When she got to that point most had nothing more to say.

"They're worried," she said. "Nobody wants to talk about it. I think they're afraid."

Nick said, "Afraid of what?"

"I'm not sure. It hasn't been that long since this country was a dictatorship. They might be afraid of being reported to the police."

"For talking about what happened?"

"For talking to us about what happened," Selena said.

Word had spread throughout the market about the foreign news reporters. People began to turn away as they approached, pretending to be busy or simply turning their backs.

"I think we're about done here," Nick said.

"Maybe not."

Ronnie nodded at a dark-haired man walking toward them. He was about Ronnie's height and wore a quilted jacket against the cold. He had worn army boots, Ray-Ban sunglasses and baggy trousers. A wool watch cap completed his outfit. His ears stuck out under the edges. He came up to them and stopped.

"Hello. My name is Viktor."

He spoke to them in accented English and held out his hand. Nick hesitated for a split second and shook it.

"Nicholas," he said.

"A good name," Viktor said. "You are American reporters?"

"That's right. We're doing a special on Macedonia for public television back in the states. We thought Debar would give us some great pictures. More like the real Macedonia, not like the big cities."

"You have come to the right place. But if you really want to get the best pictures and, what is the word, location? Then you will need a guide."

With a flourish, Viktor produced a card offering his services as an experienced tour guide. Ronnie rolled his eyes.

"I don't think…" Nick began. Selena put her hand on his arm.

"Nick, I think it could be very useful to have a guide."

Viktor beamed. Selena continued.

"He could show us around. It could save us a lot of time. I'll bet he knows about everything going on here."

"That is so," Viktor said. "Simply tell me what interests you. I also know the best restaurants and cafés. This alone is worth hiring me."

Selena nudged him. "How much?" Nick asked.

Viktor gave him a calculating look. "Very cheap. Fifty dollars American a day."

"Thirty," Nick said.

Viktor sighed. "There is much to see. Forty."

"Done," Nick said.

"Good. Perhaps you would like coffee before we start?"

"I could use a coffee," Lamont said.

"You have a car?" Viktor asked.

"Over there." Nick gestured.

"There is a very good café on the edge of town. It is near the ruins of a church built during the Crusades. It would be a very good place for your pictures and the food is the best in Debar. It is owned by an uncle of mine."

"I don't know," Nick said.

"Oh come on, Nick, let's go. It's almost lunchtime anyway. Perhaps Viktor can tell us something about the history of the area while we eat."

As they left the market and walked back to the car, a man wearing a black leather jacket and standing near a vegetable stall took out his cell phone and dialed.

"They're leaving the market," he said. "They're with Viktor."

"He'll take them to the café," the man on the other end of the connection said. "Follow them there."

"On my way."

The man with the jacket put away his phone.