Ten years after I finally worked up the courage to make a profile on Literotica, here I am with another story. It wasn’t always smooth sailing. I had some embarrassingly bad early efforts. There were poorly written stories with typos, grammatical mistakes, bland characters and ridiculous plots. I tried and tried again until the Internet took pity on me and gave me a red H. Looking back, I’m thankful for those early efforts, terrible as they were. They remain as a testament to trying over and over again.
My output has tapered off considerably from what it was a decade ago when I could put out a story a month, to struggling to put together a decent story a year now. So, I hope the wait was worth it and ten years of trying with mixed results have finally yielded something worthwhile. Thanks to all my readers, old and new who have stuck with me so far, despite all the ham-handed plots and the abandoned storylines.
A massive vote of thanks to my editor duo of norafares and Bramblethorn, and my beta reader, EditorAlix. If you have not read their work yet, you’re missing out.
DISCLAIMER : All events in the story are fictional. Any similarities to real-life people, corporations, or incidents are merely coincidences. All characters involved are adults. There is graphic violence ahead.
* *
The first thing Heather noticed about the man who opened the door was the machine gun he had pointed in her direction. In all fairness, it was the most important part of her predicament, much more so than his pockmarked face.
He barked at her, not that Heather understood a word of it. Finally, realising his ineloquent pleas were not having the desired effect, he reached inside and yanked her out by her hand. Heather saw a few more men waiting outside, all similarly armed and looking menacingly at her.
“Look, gentlemen, will the one of you who knows English tell the others that it is a terrible idea to kill an American citizen on foreign soil?”
Her statement led to a round of heated discussion among the men around her. She reached into her suit. This caused a brief flutter and all the men trained their guns on her again.
“Relax, I just need a smoke. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
She lit up one of the remaining cigarettes in her pack and sat down on the open seat. The crisp sunshine beat down on her from the nearly cloudless blue sky. It was neither too hot nor cold, a happy medium that her fellow New Yorkers would spend extravagant amounts of money to vacation to.
All in all, it was a good day… with the small exception of the men with machine guns.
* *
ONE DAY BEFORE
DAY 0
“Excuse me, ma’am, but we are about to begin our final descent,” said the stewardess sweetly. “Could you please put away your laptop, fold the tray table and straighten your seat?”
She waited with a wide grin frozen on her face for an acknowledgement. It was as if the passenger was not quite aware she existed.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she tried again, her finger hovering inches from the shoulder of the errant traveller. Finally, accepting it would need to be done, she tapped her politely. It had the desired result. The mass of reddish-brown hair swept around and revealed an expression bordering on irritation. The woman looked about the age where she would take offence to being labelled as “mid-thirties”.
“Didn’t see you there,” she said. “How long till we land?”
“About half an hour. Could you straighten your seat and fold the tray table please?”
The redhead promptly complied. The first-class cabin came with a partition. As far as she was concerned, there was no one else on the plane. Except for the stewardess who made her presence known from time to time.
She settled back in her padded rest and looked at the stewardess. A horrified expression was writ large on her face as she stared into the passenger’s lap. The redhead looked down to see the head of a pack of cigarettes sticking out of her pants pocket.
“Sorry about that,” she said, pushing the pack inside.
“You can’t have that on this plane. How did you get it past security?”
“Luciana,” the woman read off the badge. “I’ve spent eighteen hours on two flights and two airports. I really couldn’t care less what I can and cannot have on this plane.”
The stewardess was taken aback by her tone. She made a motion to step back before the woman went on.
“I’d think twice before reporting me. The best you can hope for is a small fine, that too is doubtful given the people who are flying me in. It might make me change my choice of airline. That’s over thirty first-class tickets a year that will go straight to your competition. You don’t know it just yet, but you’re actually doing your bosses a favour.”
The stewardess was clearly beyond her depth. The redhead made room on her spacious seat and beckoned her over.
“Grab a couple of glasses and a bottle of that red you gave me with dinner last night.”
Luciana returned a moment later and settled down beside the redhead.
“Now if you won’t tell, I won’t tell,” she said conspiratorially, offering her open pack. The stewardess eyed her with a raised eyebrow before quietly picking one. The redhead lit hers and took a long drag.
Two tall glasses of red wine were poured out on the now unfolded tray table. Luciana lit her cigarette off the tip of the passenger’s. They sat side by side and smoked in silence.
“Cheers,” she exclaimed, clinking glasses. “There’s something you should know about me, Luciana.”
The stewardess pricked her ears and listened.
“I’m a very light sleeper. Last night, I did wake up briefly when I heard some rustling outside the partition. Now you wouldn’t happen to know what that was about, would you?”
Luciana clapped her hand over her mouth. She had tried to resist the temptation, but this was the most secluded spot on the plane. Just outside the premium first-class partition.
“Not that I minded,” reassured the passenger, taking a gulp of her wine. “You do look beautiful when you’re busy lip-locked with your crew.”
Before Luciana could react, the redhead kissed her on the lips. She tasted the bitterness of nicotine and alcohol. The redhead kissed her deeply and tilted her face to push her tongue into her mouth. The stewardess remained frozen in place.
As suddenly as it started, the passenger disengaged from the kiss and took another long drag of her cigarette. Luciana looked bewildered. Her lips still held the smell of the kiss. She looked at the passenger again, who now looked completely oblivious about what she had done.
The stewardess took a large gulp of liquid courage before moving to kiss the redhead again. The passenger held out a hand and blocked her. She tried again, only to be met with the firm hand of refusal once more.
“Like you said, we’re about to land,” said the passenger, pointing outside the window. “You should have tried your luck earlier.”
The stewardess looked disappointed and was about to get up when the redhead held her hand again.
“Do you have a layover in Belgrade?”
The stewardess nodded.
“Good, then I know you won’t mind being slightly late to your hotel room,” the passenger said calmly, stubbing out the remnants of her cigarette on the armrest. “I hope you have clean airport bathrooms here.”
She looked wide-eyed.
“You had better go out and do your thing now,” said the passenger. “Looks like we’re about to touch down.”
“Who are you?” the stewardess finally asked.
“Heather Franklin,” said the redhead, “… and I’ll make sure you never forget it.”
* *
“Welcome to Serbia.”
Heather shook hands with the balding man who was waiting for her.
“A trip of two presidents and a geek. I took off at JFK, spent an hour in Charles deGaulle, and finally I’m at Nikola Tesla. Did you know my car is named after the same guy as your airport?”
The man chuckled at her joke. He had two suited men with him who took her luggage and began rolling them towards the exit.
“Did you have trouble finding your luggage, Ms Franklin? Your flight landed almost an hour ago.”
“Yeah, sorry for that. I had to go to the washroom.”
She heard one of the suited men sulk and mutter in a heavy accent “woman problems”.
“Oh, it was a woman all right, but definitely not a problem,” She smirked inwardly.
“Should we go and check out the installations today?”
“No time like the present,” said Heather. “Give me an hour or so to freshen up at the hotel and we can be on our way. It’s a long drive to Kosovo.”
“Salinger Energy flew you in at the right time. You’ve got the inside scoop on possibly the biggest natural gas fields that have been discovered this century.”
“I’m just here to oversee the contract of the drilling and distribution rights,” she said, getting into a black car. “Once I’m convinced that Salinger is getting the fair share we negotiated in New York last month, I’ll go back and a team of engineers will take over.”
The man got in front and asked the driver to start. They drove through the picturesque streets of Belgrade. It was almost unrecognisable from the images on the news as recently as a year ago — the fighting in the streets, the burning vehicles and buildings. It was the bloodiest coup the world had seen in a generation and it culminated with the deposed President Kovačević hanging in the middle of Republic Square while his supporters and opponents battled violently all around his suspended corpse.
“If we finish early, you can visit The Church of Saint Sava or the National Museum,” said her guide.
“I’m here for a few days,” Heather said, nonchalantly lighting up inside the car. “It would be a shame if the airport was the highlight of my trip.”
“Would you like to do some sightseeing first? We could always go to the gas fields tomorrow.”
“I’d rather get the work out of the way if you don’t mind.”
“As you wish,” said the man. “We have a reservation at a five-star hotel in Pristina. After you get some rest, a representative from the energy ministry will meet you and show you the fields tomorrow.”
The winding road took them out of Belgrade. The beautiful cityscape gave way to a lush countryside dotted with small clusters of houses. Heather busied herself with her tablet where she had prepared notes for her visit. There were figures and estimates and terms she needed to know at the tip of her fingers before the next day.
“Can we stop for a fresh pack? I’m almost out over here.”
“A fresh pack of…?”
“Cigarettes, genius,” she groaned. “I tend to get into a supremely bad mood if I don’t have any.”
* *
Heather was admiring the view outside her hotel window. The city of Pristina had a unique mix of modernity and old-world roots. She could see bright lights on all the way to the rocky mountains where she would be going the next day.
There was a knock on her door. She looked through the peephole to see a young woman wearing far too little, standing outside. Heather opened the door slightly and looked at her.
“Ms Franklin?” Her English was heavily accented.
“Yes,” Heather smiled and opened the door wide for her. The woman was strikingly attractive, tall with blonde tresses coming down to her shoulders. Her features were sharp. Heather’s eyes trailed all the way down to her long, toned legs.
“I have been sent by Mr Aleksander.”
“I’ll have to thank Mr Aleksander tomorrow,” said Heather. “What’s your name?”
“Jelena.”
“Jelena, I suppose you know why you’re here. There are two things I need to know from you right now before we take this any further. First, how old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“Are you sure?” repeated Heather. She had a knack for spotting a lie and nothing in the girl’s demeanour indicated she was lying when she nodded.
“Fair enough,” said Heather. “Now tell me, is anyone forcing you to do this?”
“No,” said Jelena. “I need the money and Mr Aleksander pays well. I entertain his guests from time to time.”
“Are many of his guests like me?”
“No, Ms Franklin,” Jelena smiled. “Most are fat, balding men who get hard when I moan for them. You’re the first woman.”
“A disgusting glass ceiling to break,” Heather thought, eyeing her leggy guest.
Jelena looked nervous. It was much easier when a man was ogling her, licking his lips at the prospect of what was to come.
Heather opened her laptop and opened up her account transfer page. What good was an obscene expense account if not to spend on pleasures of the flesh? Such largesse from Salinger Energy would be repaid a million times over with the natural gas rights she was here to secure.
“Put your IBAN number and SWIFT code here, please.”
Jelena complied, unsure of what was going to be expected of her. Mr Aleksander had already paid her in advance.
A few clicks and she got a text from Societe Generale indicating a credit to her account. Her eyes widened as she saw the amount.
“That’s just for showing up,” said Heather, calmly. “If you choose to walk out right now, you can keep that. No one has to know.”
Jelena looked perplexed. Heather lit a cigarette and continued.
“If, however, you were to strip for me,” said Heather, taking a long drag, “I might be inclined to add another deposit.”
Jelena nodded and turned towards Heather. The dazzling sequins on her dress glinted against the light.
“Don’t rush it.”
The shimmering dress slowly slid down revealing her flawless pale skin. Heather’s appraising eyes watched intently as her dress pooled in a satin puddle at her feet. Jelena was obviously good at what she did, else she would not have been chosen.
“That’s more like it.”
Spurred on by the encouragement and looking to maximize her profits, the gifted Jelena sat on the couch facing Heather and spread her legs wide like a gymnast doing a split. The thong left nothing to the imagination, even more so when she pulled it aside and revealed her lush orifice to the lawyer.
“Play with yourself for me and there’s another deposit in it for you.”
On cue, Jelena dipped her finger inside her and started tracing her coral pink flesh. Heather’s eyes remained transfixed on her while her fingers traced out shapes and patterns on her lips and her clit. She batted her eyelashes at Heather, daring her to cross the last barrier.
Heather made good on her promise and gave the requisite few keystrokes to add another deposit. Even as Jelena was checking her phone, Heather pushed her pants down to her knees and spread her legs. Jelena’s eyes flashed with dollar signs as she dove in.
“Oh… right there.”
* *
DAY 1
“Not get much sleep?” asked one of the men in Heather’s car. His harsh tenor snapped her out of her drowsy trance.
She merely nodded before leaning back against the seat. She felt drained, both of energy and of enough money to put a kid through college. Once the gifted Jelena got used to the carrot and more carrot approach, she was eager to please, coming to her again and again through the night until she was a quivering mass of jelly.
Their car straddled the rugged terrain separating Serbia and Kosovo. There were frequent disagreements as to whether the line was to be considered as an international border or not. She didn’t care how many pieces the former Yugoslavia fractured into, as long as the men paying her exorbitant fees got the natural gas fields they wanted.
Mr Aleksander was seated in front. Here was a man intent on testing the amount of flesh that a skeleton could support. Pale pink skin hung from his jaw to give him a triple chin. His waistline, similarly, betrayed his fondness for beer and red meat. His very expensive clothes were likely custom-made for his build.
“Your surveyor, a Mr Rinehart, has already seen the fields that we have earmarked for your client. I trust you have seen his reports.”
“Let’s talk shop when we get there,” groaned Heather. “I need sleep.”
“Very well.”
Their car sat between two jeeps with armed guards. Armed loyalists of the former president still hid out in these lands. There were multiple reports of casualties coming from the border every day. Military and civilian.
Heather dozed off again. The stony-faced guards continued to stare straight ahead while Mr Aleksander kept checking his phone. Their convoy snaked through winding roads and idyllic countryside rendered barren by conflict. Somewhere only the ruins of a church remained standing and somewhere else, what was once a house was burnt to ash. The scant remains of villages and towns dotted the countryside, each a testament to an atrocity on civilians.
Just when the embattled people were looking to put the horrors of war behind them, an obscure Serbian had decided to become President by force.
Heather was a light sleeper by any measure, but the sound of the lead car exploding when it hit the IED would have woken up anybody.
* *
The blast was followed by multiple rapid-fire rounds of bullets ringing out. Heather could make out that the car in front of her was reduced to a smouldering wreck. Her two companions immediately pulled out their guns and opened the doors enough to take cover. The hitherto jolly Mr Aleksander suddenly turned paler by several shades and ducked until he was horizontal, or at least as close to horizontal as his frame would allow.
The men from the car behind her poured out and joined the fight as well. She didn’t have a clear idea where the enemy bullets were coming from but realised they were not aiming for the car. By all accounts, she was safer inside than out.
The gunfire got more intense. Nearby screams let Heather know that her side was faring badly. The man to her left was now lying supine on the grass with a red pool around his head. His counterpart on her right fired valiantly, but it was only a matter of time before he too met the same fate.
Each passing second came with sickening sounds of lead piercing flesh. The men in the car behind her had all been neutralized. The last remaining armed man to her right made a suicidal run for it. He was halfway up a grassy knoll when a nine millimetre round met his back. His legs folded under him and he rolled back down.
The bullets stopped. Heather looked around to see multiple looming shadows approaching. There were at least twelve men who surrounded her car. They had a look about them akin to a pride of lions circling their prey.
The first thing Heather noticed about the man who opened the door was the machine gun he had pointed in her direction. In all fairness, it was the most important part of her predicament, much more so than his pockmarked face.
He barked at her, not that Heather understood a word of it. Finally, realising his ineloquent pleas were not having the desired effect, he reached inside and yanked her out by her hand. Heather saw a few more men waiting outside, all similarly armed and looking menacingly at her.
“Look, gentlemen, will the one of you who knows English tell the others that it is a terrible idea to kill an American citizen on foreign soil?”
Her statement led to a round of heated discussion among the men around her. She reached into her suit. This caused a brief flutter and all the men trained their guns on her again.
“Relax, I just need a smoke. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
She lit up one of the remaining cigarettes in her pack and sat down on the open seat. The crisp sunshine beat down on her from the nearly cloudless blue sky. It was neither too hot or cold, a happy medium that her fellow New Yorkers would spend extravagant amounts of money to vacation to.
All in all, it was a good day… with the small exception of the men with machine guns.
“So are you going to kill me or not?”
The suspense was killing Heather, if not the posse of armed men. They were on their third conference and had still not decided on her fate.
Heather scoured the month-long crash course in Serbian she had taken for something she could ask them but drew a blank. It was unlikely her situation would improve if she were to ask one of the armed men where the ladies room was.
Meanwhile, they eyed her at intervals and went back to their discussion over what to do next. Perhaps they were fighting over who would pull the trigger.
“If only,” thought Heather, knowing fully well that a bullet through the head would be one of the kinder fates that could befall her. She had seen how some of them looked at her. She had a fair idea what they were thinking. She closed her eyes and shuddered inwardly. Some of the men were big and they’d be big down there.
A mewling sound reminded her she was not alone in the car. Mr Aleksander had turned impossibly pale and was muttering a prayer under his breath. The men outside might decide to start with him first. Heather would enjoy watching that at least.
With every passing minute, her fate grew more grim. The men who did not eye her with lust eyed her with hatred. How else are you supposed to look at someone who has come to facilitate the sale of your country to a Canadian billionaire?
Just when she was about to ask again, she heard the sound of tyres. Three large jeeps showed up. A woman got out of the one in front and approached her.
“Ms Franklin, I presume?”
Her voice was accented, but was the best English Heather had heard all trip. She stood at five and a half feet, dressed in full body camo with a gun in her right hand. Her face was much more memorable. A scar started from her left temple. Heather’s eyes followed the groove down to her eyebrow before it crossed over her nose and bisected her face diagonally all the way to her chin. It was a deep furrow, like a line furiously scribbled out on paper. A separate, shallow scar went from her right ear to her lower lip. Her face looked like that of a patchwork doll.
“Do you know how I got these scars?” she asked Heather in a passable Joker voice.
Heather still stared at them, mystified. The woman laughed and slapped her hard across the face.
“Oh the plans I have for you,” she said. “An American hostage. You will prove useful to me.”
Hostage. So they were not going to kill her immediately. She breathed a sigh of relief.
The woman barked orders to her men who got into the waiting jeeps. She took two men and sauntered around to the passenger side door where poor Mr Aleksander was on his fiftieth futile entreaty to Jesus. The crotch of his pants was wet.
“Mr Aleksander. How nice to see you again?” she said in English for Heather’s benefit. “You look better than when you were on trial for corruption. I assume all those juicy kickbacks from Salinger Energy have helped.”
“Please. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’m insured against kidnappings,” he said breathlessly. “You can get any ransom.”
“That might have been useful if I wanted to kidnap you,” she replied. “Do you see what your men did to my face that night? That’s just my face. You don’t want to see where else they did their work.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know – ”
“Well you know now. It’ll be the last thing you know.”
She turned back to Heather.
“Go with my man and get into the jeep. No sudden movements. Don’t try to be a hero. Remember… you’re just as good of a hostage without a leg.”
Heather nodded and collected her pack and lighter. The man, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Mark Calaway (also known by his stage name, The Undertaker) grabbed her arm and escorted her to the lead vehicle where she got in the front. She saw the woman talk to Mr Aleksander for a long time before her cohorts grabbed him and hoisted him out of the car.
She watched him begging and crying all the way to their vehicle. The men produced a length of chain and tied one end to the rear fender of the jeep. The other end was wrapped securely around his ankles. He begged and pleaded even as the disfigured woman got in beside Heather.
“It’s a long ride to our destination, Ms Franklin. A long ride through an active war zone. It’s best if you didn’t see what has happened to my beautiful country.”
Before Heather could reply, Not Undertaker slipped a bag over her head. She saw complete darkness for a few seconds before her eyes adjusted to the faint light filtering in through the cloth.
She couldn’t see much, but there was nothing to prevent her from hearing Mr Aleksander’s demented screams when the jeep started towards its destination.
* *
Time stops when you can’t see. One moment, Heather had a bag slipped over her head and the next it was taken off. How much time had elapsed in between, she was not sure. It had likely been a few hours given the brilliant sunshine of earlier had given way to dusk with night rapidly eating up any remnant of the sunset.
One of the men yanked her out of the car. It took a few moments for Heather to take in her surroundings. There were hundreds of barracks. Men, and a few women, in combat gear, marched and trained nearby. There were several other larger buildings towards the edge of the cliff, indicating they were now in the foothills.
A group of soldiers who were climbing up a steep rope net stopped and looked in her direction. She tried to gauge their estimation of her. Further on, there was a firing range where rows of soldiers with AK-47s peppered holes into a target board. Many soldiers were crawling through a barbed wire laden obstacle course nearby.
“Mr Aleksander looks in better shape than he has in years.”
Heather turned towards where her scarred captor pointed. The chain was still intact at the back of their jeep. It was unfathomable that the mangled, blackened pulp that remained had been a human being a short while ago.
“Come with me,” said the woman and dragged Heather by the arm. As she followed her captor, Heather became aware of hundreds of dilapidated houses and tents adjoining the military buildings. Heather was taken to one of the bigger buildings and forced into a solitary room with a bed, a sink, a toilet and a window.
“What do you think, Ms Franklin?”
“I’ve had better,” she replied, decidedly unfazed. “Give me my cigarettes and lighter or it will reflect on your Yelp review.”
“Funny. You have a smart mouth, Ms Franklin,” The woman smirked. “Don’t you worry. We will be putting that smart mouth to use very soon.”
Saying this, she closed the door. Heather checked her bed. Unlike the plush queen size bed in her hotel room, she would now have to make do with a cheap metal bed. She adjusted her weight and heard it creak. There was a mattress and a thin blanket. The rest of her room was not much better. It was definitely not what her Priceline booking had promised.
But she was alive. A fact she had been unsure of earlier. She took out a cigarette and lit it. Taking it between her lips, she took a long drag and blew a thin stream of smoke upwards. The familiar feel of nicotine flowed through her body and she knew for sure that she was still alive.
* *
DAY 2
Heather was shepherded into a small room. One wall was covered with a self-styled flag of the Serbian Liberation Army. A video camera was set up on a tripod. A motley group of rebels stood around, curiously awaiting what was going to happen.
“Did you sleep well?” the scarred woman asked Heather. In truth, she was too exhausted to be bothered by her new accommodations and had slept like a baby.
“Here,” she continued, handing her a sheet of paper. “You will kneel in front of that wall and read out what we have prepared.”
Heather knelt as asked. She was flanked by two men holding M16’s. The flag wall was behind her. The other woman walked to the camera and started recording.
“My name is Heather Franklin. I am an American citizen and a lawyer at Griffin, Markham and Wiley.”
What followed were the requisite warnings as to what fate may befall her if the powers that be did not comply with their demands.
“… the demands are as follows.”
Heather scanned through the next three paragraphs before bursting into laughter. She stopped and tried reading further, only to dissolve into a fit of laughter again.
“Is this is a joke to you?” asked the scarred woman.
“It must be a joke if you think you will get any of these demands.”
The woman bristled with anger. Her face darkened into a scowl and her eyes flashed fire.
“You will kneel and read the demands as they are written.”
“Listen, Jigsaw. You have grossly overestimated my worth if you think you’ll get any of what’s written on this piece of paper,” said Heather plainly. “The people I represent will write me off as the cost of doing business and replace me with another lawyer by the end of the week.”
Not amused, the scarred woman fixed her with a glare and spoke slowly, enunciating her threat in detail.
“Do you know I’m a trained chef? I learned how to use a paring knife to remove skin from flesh quickly and efficiently. You will read the statement as we have written it or you shall find out how it feels when I peel the skin off you. I assure you it will be excruciatingly painful when I start from the back of your neck and work my way down your spine.”
“Free General Savic. Return the natural gas rights to the people who live locally. Prosecute Salinger Energy for engineering a coup,” Heather laughed. “You can cut me up and send me back in little envelopes and no one will do any of that. Only now, Uncle Sam will have all the righteous indignation needed to send armed men in helicopters to wipe your rebellion off the face of the Earth.”
The rest of the room understood little of what was being said. The scarred woman was breathing heavily now. She knocked aside the tripod and grabbed Heather by the throat. Pushing her to the ground, she straddled her hips and brought her face close to Heather’s until she could see her scars reflected on Heather’s eyes.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you with my bare hands.”
She sat up and smacked Heather hard across the face. Again. A punch to her jaw. Each time she pulled her arm back and raised it over her head before bringing it crashing down onto Heather’s face. Flecks of blood flew out.
She pounded away. Repeatedly, until she sat and gasped for air. Heather smiled and spat out some blood.
“I hope you’re still enjoying yourself, because that is all you can hope to get from me. You can take out all that rage you have, but it won’t change a thing.”
The woman took a deep breath and tightened her grip on Heather’s throat.
“Fine. Then I’ll just record killing you and enjoy watching it over and over again.”
The woman took out her gun and placed it under Heather’s chin.
“You won’t kill me.”
“Is that a fact? Are you going to appeal to my better senses?”
“No. Hers.”
Heather looked at a female soldier sitting at the far end of the room. She was dressed in full fatigues.
“While you’ve been giving orders, your men keep glancing in her direction. It’s as if they’re looking to see if she approves.”
The soldier in question finally looked up.
“I’m a lawyer, Jigsaw. It’s my job to read the room and to know who is the smartest person in it.”
The woman atop Heather finally stopped gasping. She cocked her gun and placed her finger on the trigger.
“That’s enough.”
The woman in question finally spoke up. The scarred woman reluctantly got off Heather and let her stand up. The woman gave orders and everyone else quietly exited the room, leaving only Heather and herself.
“Nice to finally meet the one in charge.”
“How did you know?”
“I’ve seen the news. I know who you are.”
“Marija Kovačević. With a J.”
It somehow failed to alarm Heather that she was talking to someone on the Interpol Most Wanted list.
* *
“An old NATO base from the nineties. It serves us nicely.”
Marija had taken Heather for a walk. The behaviour from the men had dramatically changed when they saw her with Marija as opposed to earlier. From hatred to curiosity.
“I take it you’re the diplomatic one,” said Heather, nursing her wounds. “Perhaps you could share some tips with Jigsaw.”
“Anja is my sister,” said Marija. “My baby sister. She wasn’t always like this – both physically and otherwise.”
Marija had a Mid-Atlantic accent with no trace of her Eastern European heritage. She had obviously done her schooling and university abroad. She was tall, towering over Heather at about five ten. Her body was lithe and toned with slight musculature. She could have easily been a ballerina or a gymnast with some training. Her face was pleasingly feminine, with a shock of dense black hair coming down to her shoulders and eyes as blue as a cloudless sky.
Heather had seen that face on the news – usually in the context of a terrorist attack. A mass shooting in Belgrade. A car bomb in Sarajevo. A series of coordinated explosions in Zagreb.
“You should really watch yourself around Anja. She will kill you if you make one wisecrack too many. She has always been impulsive, but now…”
“What do you plan to do with me?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” answered Marija. “For now, let’s get you checked out and back in your room. I’ll talk to Anja and my men and see how you fit in.”
* *
“This is the closest we have to a hospital,” said Marija, escorting Heather to a collection of large tents. “Get the doctor to make sure nothing’s broken and take a painkiller if you want.”
She left a soldier to guard her and left. Heather gingerly made her way inside the tent. There were around ten beds with bandaged people on them. Some lay silent and others writhed and squirmed in pain. Several nurses rushed back and forth. The soldier guided her through a partition to a smaller area of the tent.
There was a queue of patients in front of a doctor. Mainly women and children. She saw the woman at the far end examine a child. She indicated to a young makeshift nurse to hold his shoulder hard and popped it into the socket. The boy screamed while he was being led towards another part of the tent.
Heather waited her turn. A woman who looked to be in her last trimester was next to be examined. The doctor was efficient, moving from one patient to the next with ease.
“Yes, the American. I was expecting you.”
The doctor was of medium height and build. Her mixed-race heritage was evident in her caramel skin tone. Her black hair was cut short and her face looked aged far beyond her years.
“Wren Salinger,” She introduced herself while examining Heather’s face. “I hear you got on Anja’s wrong side. You’re lucky this is all she did. She gouged out the eyes of the last hostage she took.”
“Thank you for that visual.”
“Nothing looks broken,” Wren said. “I’d need an X-ray to be sure, but the closest X-ray machine is a few hundred miles away in Pristina.”
“Just give me something for the pain and I’ll be on my way.”
“No can do. The last stock of medicines I got was a month ago. I’m almost out on everything. I have to ration them for those who need them the most.”
“And I don’t make the cut?” said Heather with a mock pout. “I’m hurt.”
“Just take a look behind you.”
Heather glanced behind her to see a woman with a deep cut from her knee, almost to her ankle. The ankle was twisted at an awkward angle. She had to be supported on two sides by her two boys.
“Point taken.”
She turned to leave before saying.
“Wren Salinger. Any relation to – ”
“Yes, your boss is my grandfather.”
“There has to be a story there. How did the granddaughter of that man end up here?”
“Not now,” said Wren, pointing to her seemingly endless queue of patients.
* *
DAY 4
“I take it you’re warming up to your new accommodations.”
“The rats are delightful company,” said Heather.
Marija smiled at her. It was surreal to see that smile on the face of someone responsible for bombing the military headquarters in Novi Sad.
“I have a peace offering,” she said, tossing a carton of Marlboros to her captive. “Don’t ask me where I got that.”
“Oh thank Goddd!” exclaimed Heather. “I thought I was going to die from withdrawal.”
Marija came and sat down opposite Heather. She shook the messy black curls off her face and cocked her head to the side.
“You’re a curious one, Heather Franklin. Yesterday, Anja would have killed you had I not stopped her. Yet you goaded her on.”
“Look, Marija with a J. You lot will either kill me or you won’t. There is very little I can do to change whatever choice you make.”
“In truth, we didn’t plan for you. Anja wanted to get Mr Aleksander and you were merely collateral damage. She hasn’t thought of what to do with you – no bank account for the ransom, no way to get in touch with your employers, no one to negotiate with the American consulate.”
“She doesn’t strike me as someone who plans too far ahead.”
“She took what happened to our father hard,” Marija said. “Seeing him overpowered, dragged outside and lynched by the mob – it changed her. ”
Heather nodded, vividly remembering the image from the news.
“I’ll try to negotiate better accommodations for you. You didn’t take away their land. You were just here doing your job and you got caught up in this mess.”
“Thanks,” said Heather. She got a close look at Marija’s face. Her blue eyes looked jaded and weary, far more than they should.
“Of course, you do understand I can’t set you free. At the very least you’re worth a ransom or a political prisoner being released.”
Heather sighed and opened up a pack. Freedom was a distant dream. She had seen the base spanning hundreds of acres of elevated terrain. The border was of thick concrete with rolls of concertina wire along the top. There was an outpost with a turret every fifty metres… and all that was if she managed to somehow make it past Not Undertaker and his cronies stationed outside her door.
* *
DAY 6
“Take a look.”
Marija passed Heather a tablet. Through the weak internet connection, Heather saw her face and that of former Serbian energy minister and current human skid mark, Aleksander. All the major news networks had picked up the story and were running it – CNN, MSNBC, Fox, Al Jazeera, BBC, the works.
“You’re famous,” smiled Marija. “Although I see this is not your first time in the media spotlight.”
In truth, Heather stayed as far away from the media as possible. Her reticence often frustrated them when her name was associated with an especially scandalous trial.
“They’ll move on. People get kidnapped all the time. I’ll last one, maybe two news cycles before one of the Kardashians has a sex tape leaked, and the world goes back to normal.”
“Won’t your family make a public appeal?”
“I don’t have any family left for a public appeal. I don’t have…” said Heather, pausing to think. “You could let Jigsaw kill me right now and the only people who will miss me are the senior partner at my firm who was counting on my help for a class action lawsuit and the drug dealer operating in The Ramble who supplies me weed.”
Even as she said this, Heather went through the news articles in front of her. There were appropriately grisly visuals of the ravaged countryside. Bodies piled in a mass grave here. A family hanging from a tree there. Two soldiers from the new Serbian army seemed to be playing soccer, a normally quaint sight rendered horrific by the severed human head they were kicking around. One picture had the soldiers celebrating as they kicked the aforementioned head through a goal marked by spent shell casings.
“See? See what your client Crispin Salinger has brought down on my country? He knew my father would not simply hand over the natural gas fields like he wanted, so he found someone who would.”
Heather closed her eyes, replaying the images she had seen.
“Of course, your New York Times only publishes one side of the conflict. Do they ask how many thousands of people have been displaced? Do they care how the newly formed army is mainly to drive people out of their homes so that construction of the rigs can begin?”
“What do you want me to say, Marija with a J?” asked Heather pointedly. “That the people I work for are the Scum of the Earth? That Crispin Salinger’s obscene wealth can only be matched by his insatiable greed? I’ve stopped caring about who I work for ages ago. It’s how I go to sleep at night.”
Marija cocked her head to the side and looked at her for a few long moments.
“The good news is that I’ve finally decided what I’m going to do with you.”
* *