Chapter Five
There being no signs at all of hostile attention or even anything beyond the vague curiosity one gets as a foreigner, I felt comfortable hopping a cab to the city park in Valeria. I had no business there but it got me closer to where I needed to be. It was only a short walk downhill to the café where I had my next appointment and I took a leisurely stroll that got me in place a few minutes ahead of time. I found a table inside near the back, close to the rear exit, and ordered a macchiato. The place was the typical early evening Pristina café, crowded, full of smoke and with a blaring techno-pop background to the babel of shouted conversations.
Perfect.
I had just received my coffee when a tall, dark haired Albanian male in a long leather coat, blue jeans and a sweater entered and visually swept the room. He was bigger than the average guy there and had a shock of wavy, dark hair over a heavy lidded gaze which might be explained by the rising smoke from the cigarette burning in the corner of his mouth. Then again, I had rarely seen him without one, except maybe when doing PT. I waited until he noted me in the corner and then rose to greet him as he rushed across the room. His face was split in a wide grin, one I felt myself returning, and we meet with the typical Albanian ballistic handshake and hug of good friends. Naim and I were old comrades, his background in the Kosovo Liberation Army having been of considerable assistance in my last endeavors in the area. He was typical of all the things I loved about the Albanian people, generous, honorable (after his own interpretation of honor), courageous and loyal. Sounded kind of like a Boy Scout. That he most certainly was not but then, I had quit them myself at a tender age when they expressed displeasure at my choice of violence to resolve a personal dispute with two older Scouts. Naim had been busy after the war and was doing well. We kept in touch now and then but hadn’t seen each other since late 2002. I waved to the waiter for another macchiato for Naim and we settled into our chairs for the initial round of catching up. This took the better part of thirty minutes and several macchiatos. When we switched to beer, Naim leaned forward and broached the topic which had been foremost on his mind but which it would have been impolite to ask before now.
“So you are doing well, looking good and healthy. Why are you back in Kosova after so long? I am guessing it is not for vacation, eh?”
“Nope, you guess right. I’m working on something and need to see if you are available. Also, there are some folks I want some information on and I’ll need backup at a meet or two.”
Naim smiled and stubbed out his last cigarette before shaking out a new one.
“Just like the old days, huh? Sounds like fun. Do you want anything you left here with me for this?”
“Yeah, the short. None of the rest. If it’s ok with you, let’s go collect that and I’ll fill you in on the details.”
Naim glanced around the crowded café and nodded. Even with the noise it wasn’t good OPSEC to go into specifics or names where we could be overheard. As for the things I’d left behind, he was referring to a habit of mine of leaving a small cache of weapons, documents and what have you behind in places where I operated and might one day return. I usually leave them with a trusted contact like Naim or else in a very out of the way hide location where they were likely to remain undisturbed. Of course, the items could be lost or otherwise unavailable but having them prepositioned would save time and the trouble of attempting to acquire them during an operation. In this case I’d left an AKM, several magazines of the requisite 7.62 mm ammo, two Russian F1 limonka hand grenades and an M 57 Yugoslavian version of the Tokarev TT-33 pistol. All I really needed was the pistol. I didn’t know who would turn up for the meet tomorrow night. And I most certainly wanted an option besides throwing rocks and yelling rude words if four guys with AKs decided to crash my party.
We finished off our beers, paid the bill and headed out the door. Naim had an older gray Mercedes parked on a side street and we walked to it, checking for shadows and random thugs like the two I’d met last night. Nothing pinged my radar as we climbed into the car and then headed toward a small village south of the hospital area. I’d never learned the name of this place or even if it had a name as it was a sort of spill over from the larger city. People came, squatted for a while, built a house and paid whatever bribe was needed to the municipality to show a deed for the land. Over time a new section of the city existed where there had been open fields before. Naim had a small two story house here but our destination was a tiny petrol station with a single pump fronting a ramshackle garage on the main dirt road that joined the unnamed ville with the Pristina-Skopje highway. I hadn’t known where we were headed until we pulled in and parked behind the garage. Naim led the way to a rusted tin shed, opened the padlock with a key on his key ring, and then reached up into the darkness to find the single dim bulb hanging on a piece of electrical wire which gave illumination to the interior. I followed him in, closed the door and looked around.
The place was a mess of parts, scattered bits of junk, crates, boxes and barrels, some open and themselves full of miscellaneous junk, others sealed and with wooden boxes of empty beer and soda bottles scattered haphazardly on top. A set of battered metal shelves on one side held more boxes and mechanical and electrical parts, none of which were familiar to me. I wasn’t very mechanically inclined anyway. Naim moved a drum full of some heavy liquid, pushed aside several wooden planks and revealed a small open pit in the concrete floor. It looked like the type of thing into which one emptied the oil when doing an oil change on a tractor or motor vehicle. From the dark, greasy swirl filling the pit that was evidently what it had been used for. Equally evident was the fact that no one had emptied it in a very long time. Naim used a nearby broom handle to prod the turgid, oily depths and then grunted in satisfaction. He tossed in the butt of his latest cigarette, quickly pulled off his jacket, sweater and the shirt beneath and, naked from the waist up, knelt and reached into the pit. A moment of sloshing followed and then he withdrew a small plastic wrapped box, itself covered with duct tape. Placing this on an already grease covered section of cardboard box sitting on a nearby stack of empty soda bottles, Naim used a filth encrusted towel hanging on a hook to wipe the oil off his arms and hands. From the looks of the towel it had performed this task a time or two before although you’d have to see the pit and someone fishing in it to make the connection. He got the majority of the mess transferred from arms to towel and began dressing. I grabbed the towel, used it to shield the hand steadying the oil covered package and flipped open my CRKT M16. The razor sharp blade made quick work of the wrapping, dropping it away to reveal a small metal box about the size of a cigar box. Opening this in turn revealed the M57 and two magazines. There were loose 7.62 x 25 rounds in the box, enough to fill both nine round magazines with a few left over. FMJ unfortunately but much better than nothing.
I closed the box, used the towel to shove the wrapping into a pile of similar rags and plastic trash and helped Naim reposition the wooden covering and barrel over the pit. A few more pieces of junk tossed on top and there was no indication that anyone had moved anything. A day or two of accumulated dust and the place would look like it hadn’t been visited in years. I shoved the box under my arm as Naim pulled the chain and turned off the light. Once it was extinguished, I opened the door and we went out, relocked the padlock and then entered the Mercedes and quickly drove away. As we headed back into the city center, Naim lit a new cigarette as I briefed him on what I needed. The first order of business was coming to an agreement on his fee, something we did easily and without negotiation. We were friends but he would also be running some risks in helping me and that deserved compensation. I knew from my contract that I was authorized to hire local support as needed and up to a reasonable amount of expense. InSol would reimburse me and I’d make sure Naim got the fair market rate for his time and effort.
That settled, I gave Naim a short version of my mission, namely to meet and talk to someone who might or might not come alone. I explained that I needed a lay off man, s
omeone who would watch my back and provide assistance if things went sideways. Naim was familiar with Germia Park and agreed to arrive around 2000 hours the next evening. He’d be positioned about one hundred meters to my south, in the entrance to the valley, and would be carrying his own AKM. He’d leave his Mercedes parked on a side street where the city met the largely forested valley. If the meet turned into an ambush I could withdraw toward him and he’d provide covering fire. We arranged a simple challenge/password combo we’d used before and designated a trail junction as a rally point further down the valley in case of a contact. It was one we’d used before and knew we’d have little trouble finding in the dark. I sincerely hoped he’d simply have a quiet boring night but it’s generally better to be prepared and not need than need and not be prepared. With the immediate arrangements for support during the meet covered, I asked if Naim would be able to do some checking on some people for me. I wanted to see if Billi’s story had a basis in reality. Naim had a few sources that would be able to verify where she worked and note any local connections of importance without drawing attention to the inquiry. I doubted there was anything to find out but, like the effort of investigating HANNA’s living arrangements, I simply didn’t know what I didn’t know. Naim’s ability to check for me would give me a more complete picture and might even turn up something useful. It wasn’t until I broached the subject of Gashi that I got a reaction.
“Luli Gashi? You mean the guy in the MOI who got killed a week ago? One of Thaci’s guys? Your job has to do with him?”
Naim sounded both surprised and uncertain. Thaci was a big deal around here and not simply because he was the Prime Minister of the new republic. He had been one of the primary leaders of the KLA/UCK back in the day and had close ties with a number of organized crime figures. Rumors of his involvement in everything from drugs, human trafficking and murder had swirled around him long after people stopped listening to Serbian propaganda which painted all Albanian freedom fighters as criminals and terrorists. Some undoubtedly were and, strangely enough, the known ones seemed to always turn up around Thaci. Of course, this was true of any Balkan politician and given Thaci’s background as a finance guy for UCK, those connections were not surprising. Lately he’d been distancing himself from them, acting more the up and coming statesman and national leader but both Naim and I knew his track record. Any operation that involved him would naturally be more dangerous for Naim as he had to live here while I got to leave. I had no reason to believe Thaci or his people had anything to do with the hit or Islamic extremists but still understood his concern.
“Yeah, that’s the one. I’m not too sure how he figures into this but the folks who whacked him are the same ones I’m concerned about tomorrow night. I doubt if it has anything to do with Thaci though. The indications are that either the mafia or some jihadists were responsible. That’s who I’m expecting to be the problem if there is one.”
“Maybe. Yeah, maybe so. Those are some treacherous motherfuckers. If Gashi was doing anything with them…” Naim’s voice trailed off.
“Yep. Bad people and very dangerous. That’s why I need someone to watch my back at the meet. I also need you to find out some background info on both Gashi and Popovic. If you want to change your mind I understand. If not, give me tomorrow night and whatever you can find out without making waves will be good enough.”
Naim crushed out the butt of his current cigarette and lit another without taking his eyes off the road. In the flare of his lighter I saw him frowning and then his quick nod.
“OK. For you, because of our friendship, I will do this. You cannot go up against this type of problem without support and I will be your support. Just please, remember that I will have to live here after you are gone.”
Naim glanced my way, his face a combination of anxiousness and resolve. I laughed, raising my hand to acknowledge his concern and smiled reassuringly.
“No worries, Naim. I understand perfectly. Just help me out with this and no problems. I don’t want to get you into any troubles and I very much appreciate the help. I know it is because we are friends and you are an honorable man.”
I meant what I said. Naim was honorable which, by his code and mine meant he’d take a risky job as my support system simply because we were friends. I in turn would not abuse that friendship and would try to keep him out of trouble. We both knew I meant trouble which couldn’t be fixed by a bribe or pressure from a politically connected friend. Naim relaxed a bit and we finished the trip with a review of what I wanted to know about both Billi and Luli. Naim pulled to the curb near the stadium where I stepped out of the Mercedes and almost immediately into an alley. I walked around for about thirty minutes running a short SDR and then made my way back to the Grand. I was in my room and opening the metal box about the same time Naim would be getting home.
I stripped the M57 carefully, checked that it was clean and oiled sufficiently. I then pulled on a pair of thin leather shooting gloves to keep my prints off the weapon, wiped down the parts where I touched them and reassembled it. I also wiped down and loaded the magazines the same way. People tend to forget when using an automatic or semi-automatic weapon that the shell casings get ejected. If I loaded the weapon with my bare hands, my prints would get left behind. Gathering up all the brass after a firefight is rarely possible to say nothing of practical. So I wiped and loaded with care against the possibility that I’d fire the pistol and leave brass behind at the scene. I’d also wear the gloves when I handled it tomorrow. For now it went into the Pelican case, one round in the chamber and the hammer carefully lowered to half cock.
There was nothing else useful for me to do that evening so I pulled out my ebook reader, selected a Terry Pratchet book and settled in to enjoy the wit, wisdom and escapism his work always afforded. An hour or so later I was tired enough to try to sleep. I undressed, turned off the light, set my alarm on the door and dropped off into dreamland.
Morning came early as my mind refused to drop the images from a dream that startled me awake. Like most dreams, the details faded quickly but I could recall the sense of it, a feeling of sorrow and loss as well as of looming danger. Gee, guess I ought to be a shrink to figure out where all that came from. Being mentally unprepared to go back to sleep I got out of bed, stretched and risked room service. The coffee was good, the eggs and bacon much less so. Still, it was better than a pointed stick in the eye. Leaving the tray in the hall, I made my way to the business center and used a computer to check the Hotmail account. My thumb drive showed a couple types of spyware which I negated. There was a message in Drafts from KVSPARROW. It confirmed the time and location for the meet and gave me a phone number as well. I replaced the battery in my cell phone, turned it on and entered the number under K. Wiping the browser and extracting my thumb drive took a few minutes and then I was back in my room, staring at the walls. I had a long day ahead of me before the meet tonight and needed to do something besides sit in the hotel room and stew. I threw on a pair of shorts, a Ramones t shirt and my Nike Free Runs and headed to the hotel gym. This wasn’t great but at least I got in a run and some body weight calisthenics. A quick shower later and I was still a bit early for lunch. I didn’t feel like eating in the hotel and headed off down Mother Teresa Boulevard. I found a small restaurant/bar, sat outside and watched the people walk by while eating a pretty good spaghetti Bolognese. When I finished I took a stroll through the shops and side streets, watching for anyone watching me. There was no one and I finally returned to the Grand to finish off the afternoon in my room.
Tom Petty once said the waiting is the hardest part. He wasn’t kidding. I am quite comfortable being by myself. Still, the wait before action drags on me as it does on most everyone. I had done all the planning and preparation I could. The trick now was to relax as much as possible, let my subconscious turn over while I concentrated on other things and eventually I’d find it was suddenly time to go. I sat in the overstuffed chair the Grand had thoughtfully provided for this purpose and
read for a while. Around 1800 hours I had room service deliver a sandwich, fries and a Sprite. Finally around 1900, I donned my gloves, tucked a watch cap in the pocket of my Barbour and slid the M57 butt forward into the left hand waistband of my jeans just behind the point of my hip. I put the extra mag in my left rear pocket. This carry location was fairly secure even when making gross motor movements like running, jumping or twisting. It also made the weapon more accessible while sitting as one does in a car or at a table in a café. Finally, it permitted a more unobtrusive draw especially when viewed from behind or to the side. I reassembled the cell phone, switched it on and headed out.
The night was somewhat overcast, shadows were deeper and darker and there was a slight chill in the fall air. All these were pluses as far as I was concerned. I walked through Velania, took several twisting streets and finally came out on top of Sunny Hill where I knew I’d quickly find a cab. Taking the first one available, I asked for the American University in Kosovo. The university is located on Dr. Shpetim Robaj, a short distance south of Germia Park. The cabbie wasn’t talkative and I wound up in front of the university entrance with no words exchanged aside from my destination and a short ”falimenderit” when I paid. I waited on the street lighting a Swisher until the cab had departed and then walked away from the university toward Germia Park, tossing the cigar as I went.
It wasn’t a long walk and the road quickly became deserted and quiet. There was the occasional car passing by but no other pedestrians. Cutting through a field just before the turn to the swimming pool entrance, I made my way into a deep patch of shadow near a stand of trees. The night was still, only the faint sounds of the city behind me and a few security lights at the pool. Donning my watch cap and gloves, I waited for ten minutes to see if there were signs of life ahead or around me and after seeing none, began to box the objective from west to east. This let me approach from cover and also check for anyone else already in place on those three sides. Twenty minutes of careful stalking later I was in my overwatch position, looking down on the pool, its parking lots and the road up which I had lately walked. That left only the pool itself and the woods to my immediate north. My early arrival was intended to permit anyone hiding there to make themselves known by fidgeting, smoking or otherwise displaying poor light, noise or movement discipline.
In situations like this, the idea of arriving early is pretty standard. It is possible to take it to extremes and in more populated areas or ones where you are being directly observed by the public, it is often difficult to maintain the requisite status for cover for an extended period of time. Folks tend to notice, for example, the guy who hangs out for hours on end drinking only a cup or two of coffee and reading the same paper. Of course, better tradecraft helps but unless you have strong reason to suspect hostile action, arriving a couple of hours early when you can observe from a concealed location is generally sufficient. In this case I had strong reasons to suspect hostile action but also had others which I felt were mitigating. Among them was the fact that the opposition had previously waited until a meet was in progress before showing and I felt they would, like most people, stick to what had worked before. That didn’t mean they weren’t already hiding in the woods having arrived long before I did but I judged it unlikely. And as I mentioned, the long wait we had ahead was difficult for those not used to it. Unless you’ve done it a lot (and sometimes not even then), sitting in an ambush is extremely boring. The discipline required to remain as motionless as possible, make no noise and show no light is something trained military units have difficulty maintaining. Gangsters who might have done so in their far distant past but whose lives tended toward immediate gratification and a lack of self-discipline were not likely to be able to sit still and silent in these woods. I sat back and listened to the sounds of the night, small noises, and rustlings in the weeds which told me the nocturnal animals were out and about. If the forest went suddenly quiet then I’d know something large and unknown was moving. The breeze was drifting down from the hill to my north toward the city and carried no taint of cigarette smoke.
My phone, which I had set on vibrate, began to shimmy in my jacket pocket. I took it out, shielding the light of the screen inside the jacket and crouching low. I had a text from Naim saying he was in place. I replied that I was as well and we settled in to see if anyone else joined the party early. The night drifted slowly by with only the occasional car driving past, into or returning from the park breaking the stillness. None of the vehicles were repeat customers and the quiet night let me hear that their engines didn’t pause or downshift as if stopping or slowing to permit someone to exit out of sight. Nothing changed in the sights, scents and sounds around me. For the next two hours the meet site remained silent as a tomb.
Maybe not my best analogy.
Shortly before 2200 hours my phone vibrated again. I had a text from K. It stated simply “I am here”. As I read it I saw the lights of a vehicle sweep across the pool buildings as it turned off Dr. Shpetim Robaj and onto the access road to the pool. The vehicle was a typical local taxi and had a young male driver. The rear was shadowed which prevented me from observing the passenger but it was evident that someone was in the rear seat. The taxi drove into the lot and then circled to park near the south side of the lot, close to the path leading to the overflow lot. At about 100 meters away I could observe fairly clearly despite the overcast night. The driver shut off the engine, stepped out and stretched before lighting a cigarette. He’d left the radio on and through his open door I could hear the sounds of hip hop. I wouldn’t know the real Slim Shady from an ersatz version but could at least recognize the genre. I’ve got a pretty catholic taste in music but hip hop has never been my thing. I found myself almost soundlessly humming Cole Porter’s Night and Day as a counterpoint.
The musical revere ended when the driver finished his cigarette and leaned in to turn off the radio. It had been about five minutes with no signs of anyone else being present. There could, of course, have been someone following in a vehicle with lights off, someone who then slipped out on foot and was now hiding in the shadow of the same trees I had utilized on my own approach. There could also be a well-disciplined direct action team in place near me, people who had observed my own arrival and maintained security well enough to fool me into thinking all was well. One thing you learn in this business early on is that the enemy gets a vote too. You do your best risk mitigation, prepare and rehearse responses to hostile events and train to maintain your skill set but in the end, no plan survives first contact. Once the balloon goes up it is all down to training, bloody-mindedness and mental flexibility. Of course, this didn’t mean I had to make myself an easy target. If there was a hostile element out there it was due to the person in the taxi having set me up. This was what DIA was worried about and why they did not want to expose another case officer to this level of risk. I had no intention of strolling out to meet my new friend just yet. The last time the bad guys had the benefit of having the targets in a close environment, easily located. I’d deliberately set this up to give me lots of room to maneuver and little to determine where I was located. As soon as I thought this another thought pushed toward the forefront of my mind. It faded quickly though, the connection not quite made. I put it aside for contemplation later. Right now I needed to manage the meet with a potentially hostile agent.
Pulling out my phone I sent a text to Naim confirming arrival. I then sent another to K telling them to walk up to the overflow lot and straight into the tree line where they should wait for further instructions. I also provided a pass word, Fajkua, the Albanian word for hawk, which I would use to identify myself. My having the source jump through these extra hoops was a bit rude as far as the general protocols for agent handling goes but since the situation was what it was I intended to play it cautious and safe. Rude we could fix, dead not so much. Having KVSPARROW walk to the tree line meant that I could remain in the cover of the woods which made pinpointing me harder for any waiting ambushers. It also let
me observe a bit longer when the location changed slightly from where it was set to one where any watchers had even less control. A jumpy or uncertain team might give itself away and anxiety could drive a decision to move or reposition early. I wanted to see if that occurred and I could spot it. I hit send and a minute later the rear door of the taxi opened. The figure getting out was largely hidden in the dim light at that end of the lot but I could see that the passenger was slender and moved well. The taxi remained in place, the driver’s window now down and a lit cigarette visible in the darkness. As I watched for movement or other indications of reaction from the area of the pool or the woods around me, the figure walked up the path and across the overflow lot. The lot was not in cloud shadow and as the figure drew closer I was able to more readily observe detail.
The first thing I noted was that the advancing figure was a woman. She had medium length dark hair that framed her face, falling in a casual sweep that spoke of considerable effort by a talented stylist. Her clothing was all dark, black pants that looked like jeans tucked into black high heeled leather boots. A wine red shirt sat under a waist length leather jacket. She carried a purse, also black and made of some shiny material, with a silver chain strap. This was now slung from her left shoulder. Her right hand was tucked up tight against her stomach and appeared to be holding something. From her posture and the way she was rapidly scanning the area I was betting on a small pistol of some type. Not unreasonable whatever side she was on. The woman appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, quite attractive in a sophisticated European sort of way. If Billi brought to mind Selma Hayek then this woman reminded me of Sarah Shahi. I shook my head ruefully and grinned. If there is one thing Kosovo does not lack it is attractive women. Running into two such in the same operation was not a surprise. Friends who’d never been here were always a bit skeptical when told about the general level of feminine pulchritude to be encountered here. Those who later visited were rapid converts. I pushed all that aside and watched as the woman crossed the overflow lot and then slowed, approaching the tree line hesitantly a few yards to my left. Once she entered the shadows of the trees and I could not see her I sent a quick text saying to stop and wait. The faint sounds of her movement ended and we both waited, listening to the night. Nothing else stirred and after a short pause, I began to move slowly toward her location. Its damn near impossible to move silently in the woods at night but with care one can be pretty quiet. I got close enough to drop to a crouch which silhouetted her against the light outside the forest. She was standing upright, not crouching, and looking slowly around. Her breathing seemed normal, no quick panicky breaths and while obviously tense, what I could see of her body language didn’t indicate a hair trigger readiness for flight or fight. All of this was consistent with her being here for a meeting rather than an ambush, so I whispered softly, pitching my voice to carry to where she stood but not much further.
“Fajkua.” I paused and repeated the password, “Fajkua. Keep quiet and come this way. About seven meters more. Watch your step.”
The woman twisted quickly when I spoke, her right hand coming up and pointing a small dark pistol into the woods. She just as quickly lowered it and nodded. I hoped the distinct North American accent had eased her fears somewhat. In any case she stepped carefully through the underbrush and reached me in a few seconds. I stood, prompting a quick inhalation but her features, from what I could make out in the deep shadows, remained controlled and impassive. I was taking a chance here as she still held the pistol and could easily turn her arm and try to shoot me. I was prepared to act if that happened, but even this close and in the dark there was no guarantee I’d be able to avoid being shot. Pulling the glove off my right hand with my teeth, I extended the now bare hand. I dropped the glove into my waiting left hand and, keeping my voice pitched to a very low whisper, said, “Hello. It’s good to finally meet you.”
The woman stood still for a moment and then, moving quickly as if having come to an irreversible decision, shrugged her purse off her shoulder, tucked the pistol away in it and grasped my hand firmly.
“It is good to meet you also. I am…Aferdita. You may call me Dita, of course.”
“Ok Dita. Let’s move over this way a bit. If anyone is watching and saw you it might be good to be a ways away.”
As I spoke I worked my glove back on and gestured for her to follow me to one of the paths I had scouted out previously. Using it, we made our way further south and then a few feet off the path where we were hidden from view. Good enough, now it was time to see what could be seen on a different level.