To the Top of the Mountain

31

LJUBOMIR WAS THERE. There. He knew perfectly well why. It was a test of loyalty.

The two Swedes had been in the study. ‘Security consultants’ dressed in Hawaiian shirts and shorts. They had sat cumbersomely on the L-shaped desk, talking to the great man. Quietly, so that Ljubomir wouldn’t hear. He had been standing by the door, as usual. He heard everything. His hearing was good.

‘Do we know who they are?’ the great man asked gruffly.

‘Not really,’ said one of the Swedes. ‘We’re working on it.’

‘It seems racial,’ said the other. ‘That’s top of the list. Wog money. Royal straight flush. Can’t get any higher.’

‘Who the hell blew Lordan up?’ the great man demanded.

‘Like we said, we can’t access that information. It’s not possible.’

‘You’re ex-police,’ said the great man. ‘So what the hell can you actually access? What’re you doing to earn your money?’

He paused, gathered himself, and continued.

‘Could we get to any of the investigators?’

Both of the ‘security consultants’ shook their heads.

‘They’re difficult. We’ve had a bit to do with them…’

‘Dyed-in-the-wool types. Tight, smart, a bit eccentric. Untouchable.’

‘No one’s untouchable,’ said the great man. ‘The one who came here. Hultin?’

‘Forget it,’ said the first of the Swedes, looking troubled. ‘A rock. Old school. You’ll never get to him. You could kill him, but you can’t squeeze him.’

‘Fuck the police,’ said the other. ‘Just stay ahead of them. Like normal.’

‘Nothing from our man?’

‘He’s lying low. Isn’t it time to squeeze him a bit now?’

‘Absolutely not. His insurance is watertight. If anyone’s going to squeeze him, then it’ll be my people doing it. Understand?’

That was the end of the discussion. The Swedes had left without even giving Ljubomir a glance. Then the great man had just dragged Ljubomir along with him, without a word. He dragged him out, through the paradise garden to the garage door. They stopped. Three men had immediately come rushing out of the guardroom and followed them, close on their heels. They went past Ljubomir and the great man, entered the garage and started the car. Everything was fine.

These three men tested everything. They shielded him with their bodies, they entered all rooms first, they tasted his food, they opened his post, they started his car, and they drove his car. That’s what they were doing now. Ljubomir was squashed in between two lumps of meat on the back seat as the car raced into town.

And now they were there. In that place.

It was disarmed. Disinfected. Not a trace of its disgusting past left. An empty flat. Apart from two additional, almost identical men. Like parodies of gangsters. The civilian look.

But they simply didn’t know how civilians dressed. They had been recruited to various armies and paramilitary forces since they were young. Since before they had learned how to dress.

But they knew how to follow orders.

No one said a word.

If you ignored the precision binoculars in the window, it was a completely normal flat.

If you ignored the screams which bombarded Ljubomir’s ears from the soundproofed walls.

Those clear, piercing screams.

Ljubomir imagined that they had been absorbed by the porous walls, which looked like they had golden foam cushions fastened to them. All the screams. They bombarded him in unison, like a terrible, piercing accusation. He was overwhelmed. He could feel that he had turned pale. He stepped over to the window, tried to open it. No fresh air blew in. It was stuck.

The great man came over to him and put his arm around him. It wasn’t a gesture of friendship – he saved those for outside of working hours. It was a test. To see how much he was shaking.

To see if he was about to throw up.

They stood together, childhood friends from the little mountain village in eastern Serbia, looking down at the bank on the other side of the street. You could almost believe they were friends.

A short, well-built man wearing a hat had just entered the bank.

A short, well-built man wearing a hat had just entered the bank. He scratched his forehead as he walked, scratched it so that his hand covered his face. He looked around for a moment. Big, inner-city bank. Not yet converted into an open-plan office. Half ten, mid-morning: low traffic. Four customers, none of them potential heroes. Three cameras. He worked out their range, pulled the black hat down over his face, and peered out through the balaclava’s eye holes. As the others came running into the bank, he pulled out a pistol and shot the surveillance cameras. Three shots were all that was needed.

One of the others stood guard by the door. He could hardly lift his gun. Two went over to the counter, weapons raised. One of them was wearing a golden balaclava. He said, clearly: ‘We know you’ve pressed the alarm. So we’re asking you to fill these two bags with money as quickly as you can. You’ve got thirty seconds, then we’ll start shooting customers.’

The bags were quickly filled. No one screamed, no one made a sound. A strange silence spread through the room. As though everyone had instinctively understood that he had meant it.

On the way out, they took off their balaclavas, wrapped a chain around the door handles and locked it using a padlock.

The four men walked calmly down the street, the two bags over their shoulders, turning off into a side road. No one paid any attention to the fact that one of them could hardly walk.

The short, well-built man wearing a hat had just left the bank in the company of a young blonde girl. He put his wallet into the inner pocket of his jacket, and ruffled the girl’s long hair before they hugged and parted ways. The great man pointed at him.

‘He’s probably just seen his daughter in the bank. A chance meeting. His daughter. Do you understand, Ljubomir?’

Ljubomir met the great man’s gaze. It bored into him. The great man continued.

‘This flat is for surveillance and nothing else. You’ve got to forget everything else, Ljubomir. We can see everything from here. Sooner or later, they’ll come here, and then we’ll catch them. It’s that simple. No one cheats Rajko Nedic, Ljubomir, and no one lets him down. I really want you to understand that.’

Ljubomir nodded. He understood. He understood exactly.

And still, he didn’t want to forget.