NATO Eastern Europe Command
Camp Bondsteel
The General had nodded off for a few minutes after a long day when the phone call came. He was dreaming of the last time he had taken his grandchildren to the Denver Zoo when the infernal ring broke his trance. His training kicked in and he was immediately alert. The fact that he was not expecting a call did not bode well. He couldn’t afford another attack, not after the Serbian Energy Minister two months ago.
“O’Keefe.”
“General. This is Major Geary. We have a situation.”
“Is this regarding the convoy? Did the rebels attack it?”
“Not exactly.”
His brow tightened and his temple furrowed with concern. The major quickly relayed the happenings to him and he gripped his phone tighter.
“Did any of our explosives experts check her device?”
“Cell phone trigger. Marija Kovačević could be miles away watching on. We can’t disarm it or remove it without triggering it.”
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
“General. There is another phone with the hostage. She wants to conference you with Kovačević herself.”
He agreed and a few moments later, his private number rang.
“I hope I’m not wasting my time with another empty suit. I especially wanted to talk to someone in charge.”
“This is General O’Keefe.”
“General? Looks like I got who I wanted. You know who I am. You know what I have done and what I am capable of. However, today is your lucky day. Not a single soldier on your convoy will be harmed. All I want are your supplies.”
“I am not giving you anything.”
“General. This is Heather Franklin. I am a lawyer for Griffin, Markham and Wiley in Manhattan. I was taken hostage by the SLA two months ago.”
“Ms Franklin. Are you all right? Have they harmed you in any way?”
“I am unharmed so far. Please don’t let them kill me.”
The General could sense fear in her tone. She was a private citizen caught up in a war. His heart went out to her, but he knew he couldn’t do what she asked.
“General, please,” repeated Heather. “Call the State Department in Washington. Ask for Oscar Gonzalez Junior and explain the situation to him. He will know what to do.”
General O’Keefe did not like this one bit. This was his war. He was the highest ranking representative of the US army in the region and he hated the idea that some suit in an air-conditioned office eight time zones away could give him an order.
“There is also a camera mounted on Ms Franklin’s jacket,” said Marija. “If you do not do as I say, or you try to defuse the explosive, if you try to use a signal jammer or try to rescue her in any way, I will not hesitate to trigger it. An hour later, the footage and the recording of this call go up on YouTube. Of course, I fully expect your government to take it down within ten minutes but that will be enough time for it to be downloaded, shared and replicated thousands of times. Tell me, General. Would you prefer having to explain your actions that led to the death of an American citizen to a Congressional Committee in a few months’ time?”
There was silence on the call. Silence while the wheels turned furiously in the General’s mind. Marija had chosen her words carefully.
“I thought so,” she continued. “Make the call. This isn’t a prisoner I am asking to be released or a withdrawal of your troops. These are just supplies. Warm blankets. Food. Medicines. Are they really worth her life? Your men can unload the supplies and go wherever they want. I will have them picked up. Remember, you are fighting in my backyard and I am always two steps ahead of you.”
What Heather knew, and the General did not, was that the simple phone call he was about to make to the State Department would set a chain of events in motion. Oscar Gonzalez Junior was one of the few people who was authorized to call Crispin’s chief of staff, Ken Strickland, at any hour. Ken would immediately call Crispin Salinger in whichever of his many mansions he was currently at and relay the news to him.
There would be a few minutes of delay while Crispin Salinger weighed the pros and cons of his next step. Eventually, he would reluctantly come to the conclusion that it would not be good PR if an employee of his died overseas and he could have stopped it. After all, these were just supplies, not weapons. Then he would reach back into his Rolodex and make some calls.
And the Earth shakes when Crispin Salinger makes calls.
* *
“Could you get me some water, Private Capshaw?”
The soldier went back to the truck and duly retrieved a flask. He tossed it to her from a safe distance and she took a deep gulp.
This was taking longer than expected. Maybe Oscar was on vacation. Maybe Ken had finally had one rib-eye steak too many and had a long overdue heart attack. Maybe the old man was with one of his many mistresses one-third his age and did not want to be disturbed. Heather’s plan relied on several maybes and she was hoping the dots would be joining on the other side of the Atlantic.
“Where are you from, Private Capshaw?”
“Nashville, Tennessee, ma’am.”
“Got a family?”
“Wife and two girls, ma’am. A boy on the way.”
“What are you doing in this godforsaken place, then? You should be with your wife and children enjoying a cold beer in front of the TV in Nashville.”
“I don’t get to decide that, ma’am. I go where the orders tell me to.”
“How long have you served?”
“Two tours, ma’am. Both in Iraq.”
His Southern twang was unmistakable, as was his weather-beaten look. Heather could see the traces of a smile when he spoke about his family. It was obvious he missed them a lot, but he had no choice. The rebels had not folded to the Serbian army as smoothly as hoped and now, the US-backed NATO troops were brought in to bring stability to the region.
“If I ever get back home, I’d love to come down to Nashville and meet your family.”
“It would be our pleasure, ma’am.”
Heather could see a higher-ranking officer approach the private from the rear. He handed over the walkie and whispered urgently into his ear. Private Capshaw’s jaw dropped when he heard what was said.
She smiled inwardly, knowing she would not have to wear the suicide vest much longer.
* *
“I still can’t believe that actually worked.”
Not that anyone was complaining. Marija drove the lead jeep. A row of trucks followed, each containing desperately needed supplies. The military base would have to wait a few more days for theirs.
The last time Heather had been driven to the rebel camp, she couldn’t see the approach. Now, she could make out the strategic importance. There was a single road leading up the hill, covered by forests on both sides. The plateau was surrounded by insurmountable terrain on the other sides and a sheer cliff leading to Kosovo.
Even the most well-trained army would be stymied by this approach. Their progress would be slowed to a crawl.
“It’s a good thing I had some soldiers from the former munitions expert group who could rig together a suicide vest on short notice.”
“What if my plan had not worked? What if I had underestimated how much Salinger cares for his image?”
Marija chose not to answer. Anja, however, gleefully informed her she would have happily triggered the device just to get rid of her.
The trucks were greeted with open arms at the gate. Dr Salinger and her staff began distributing the supplies. Marija gave some orders and then continued driving all the way to her abode.
Heather took out the tablet to see if the incident had made the news. To her surprise, there was a message waiting with a link.
“I think it’s for you,” said Heather, handing it over. “From your lawyer in Belgrade.”
Anja took the device and clicked on it. After a few moments, her lips curled into a scowl as she bristled with rage.
“Those bastards. I’ll kill them. I swear I’ll kill every last one of them.”
Marija and Heather looked at each other before taking the tablet back. The link was to a video. A grainy video of a man sitting in a small room. He looked to be in his late fifties. Suddenly, four men charged into the room and began beating him. There was no sound with the video, but they rained blows down on him relentlessly. He tried to block them to no avail, finally curled in a ball to protect himself. The men did not stop, now taking out batons before bludgeoning him over and over again on his face and chest.
“Turn it off,” said Marija quietly.
Heather did so. She did not need to be told that that was General Savic. Even for someone accused of war crimes, this treatment violated the Geneva Convention in a hundred different ways. But it was no use. The video could never be tied back to Salinger and the court of public opinion was not sympathetic to war criminals, even those with baseless charges against them.
Crispin Salinger was smarting over the day’s happenings and needed to remind Marija of who he really was.
* *
DAY 80
“Slowly, Heather. Don’t rush it.”
Heather made a show of opening the front of her shirt button by button. She didn’t like the theatrics of sex, always preferring to skip to the part where upper lips met lower lips, but she was a captive. And the captive did what was asked.
After the lowest button was done, she slowly peeled the shirt off her. Her pants also slowly receded, revealing her ghastly pale legs. Marija took a sip of her wine and studied her lover. She was only in her underwear now.
“Like what you see?”
“So pure. So weak. So vulnerable,” Marija whispered. “Your gym membership. Your pilates classes. Your self-defence sessions. Nothing can help you here. Here, your life is in my hands.”
Heather walked towards Marija and placed a palm on her shoulder.
“Isn’t that why you brought me here? To protect me?”
Marija grabbed her wrist. In one fluid motion, she rose and locked Heather’s arm behind her back and pushed her up against a wall. Heather tried to resist, but she was completely outmatched.
“When you were in front of the convoy, I held your life in my hand. How did it feel?” Her voice was next to Heather’s ear and her tone was throaty. She asked again. “How did it feel knowing I could push that button and leave only a smear where you stood?”
She made her point by licking Heather’s earlobe. Her hand locked the arm tighter, making Heather wince with pain.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t like it. I know you do. I see it in your eyes every time you tempt fate.”
Heather did not respond. Marija used her free hand to slip inside Heather’s bra and grab a handful of her breast. She kneaded the soft flesh hard and rolled the nipple between her thumb and forefinger, making Heather squeal in pain.
“That’s right, Heather Franklin. Sing for me. That’s all you are to me – a glorified musical instrument.”
Marija repeated her rough handling of Heather’s breast. Her fingers dug into her skin like hooks. Her lips and tongue were on her earlobe and the side of her cheek.
“Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run and hide. You are mine to do with as I want.”
Heather whimpered as her arm locked tighter behind her back.
“Do you know who I am? Do you know what your media says about me? I am the first woman to feature on both the Interpol and FBI Most Wanted Lists at the same time.”
“You must be so proud.”
“Funny till the bitter end, eh Heather?”
Without waiting for a response, she turned Heather around and pushed her to the bed before pushing her face first down on the mattress. She yanked Heather’s panties down to her knees and jammed two fingers inside her. As she had anticipated, Heather was dripping wet.
She got to work, twisting and scissoring her fingers inside Heather, determined to extract as much sensation as possible. Heather let out a moan and felt the invading fingers inside her. It was a tight fit, like a slightly small glove bought a thrift store. One finger. Two. Three. Back to two. There was no respite or monotony as Marija mixed it up and never let Heather’s body settle into a routine of what to expect. All of a sudden, the fingers were gone, leaving a gaping void.
“Heather Franklin, I am going to pay you back in your own coin.”
Before Heather could fully comprehend what that meant, she heard a rustling. Turning her head, she saw the silhouette of Marija opening a drawer and rummaging inside with one hand. To her shock, she soon felt the fingers replaced by something much larger and phallic in shape. She instinctively tried to close her legs, but felt a sharp sting of an open palm on her ass for her troubles. Marija let go of her arm and pressed the back of her neck down on the bed.
In one smooth motion, she was buried all the way to the hilt of her strapon inside Heather. The abrupt change of invader shocked Heather for a moment while she adjusted to the new shape. Marija smacked her left buttcheek and then her right in quick succession. Satisfied by their pinkish hue, she grabbed both of them hard and slowly slid out until the tip of her dildo rested against her captive’s hole.
“I am going to do to you what your employer has done to my country.”
* *
DAY 100
“Is it wrong that I’m toasting a hundred days of being a prisoner?”
“If it’s an excuse to drink, then go for it,” said Marija. “My family’s cellar is at your service.”
The winter had properly set in now. The row of Dinaric Alps outside the balcony was blanketed in a white sheet of snow. The sunrise lit the whole vista up, making each peak a shining point on the horizon.
“I wish I could have taken you skiing down that slope over there,” Marija pointed. “There is a cabin on the other side which leads to the top of the piste. It puts the likes of your American slopes at Vail and Deer Valley to shame.”
“I was never much of a skier.”
“All I can say is you missed out.”
Marija took a sip of wine and continued.
“I still remember the adrenaline rush. I’ve tried skydiving and it doesn’t even come close. There is no parachute to save you. All you have to trust is your own skill. It feels like a different lifetime when I went skiing.”
They were interrupted by a third voice. It lacked the requisite number of expletives to be Jigsaw. Instead, they saw Dr Salinger making her way to them.
“It feels like the first day off I have got in over a year.”
“Is everyone okay, Dr Salinger?” Marija asked.
“The volunteers have become quite useful now. I can trust them with the most common stuff like dressing wounds and making splints for fractures. That cuts my workload by half.”
“Careful,” joked Heather. “You don’t want Interpol’s Red Notice holder here to get the idea you are redundant. After all, you are the closest Salinger around.”
“I see you have settled in and Anja hasn’t threatened your life in a week. That’s a win.”
“Are you also here to celebrate my hundred days in captivity?”
“Any reason will do for a glass of wine.”
Wren took her glass and settled down with the ladies.
“My grandfather has finally released a statement about you. A spokesperson for Salinger Energy mentioned how deeply concerned they were for your welfare and how they hoped you would be released unharmed.”
“Did they mention I was in their thoughts and prayers?” asked Heather, taking a gulp. “That always does the trick.”
Wren laughed. Heather saw her up close. Her copper brown hair naturally formed corkscrew curls down to her shoulder. Her eyes were bright, yet weary, set against her mocha skin tone and high cheekbones.
“I have never actually met your grandfather, just heard of him.”
“That’s Crispin Salinger for you. Rarely heard, never seen, eternally feared.”
“He is…” started Heather, unable to find a tactful way to complete her thought.
“Let me help you,” offered Wren. “My grandfather is a Lovecraftian horror who uses his unfathomable wealth to bludgeon his way to ever more obscene profits.”
“Concisely put,” said Marija, refilling her glass.
“I was at his Rhode Island mansion last year for his seventy-eighth birthday. He joked to all assembled how he was afraid his age might finally be catching up to the number of billions in his net worth, but he was soon going to be able to widen the gap once again. All his guests found it hilarious that he has more money than the GDP of a small country.”
“Tell us about the stuff that did not make it to his biography,” said Marija, pouring out a glass of wine for their guest.
“Let’s start with the well-known. He was born in Montreal to a French-Canadian father and Irish mother. Inherited the largest energy company in Canada from his father. He could have lived comfortably with just what he was given, but it was nothing compared to his ambitions.”
Wren took a sip and went on.
“He married the daughter of a prominent Dallas oilman, marking his entry into the American energy market. After that, his empire exploded. The joke is that if anything died a million years ago, Salinger will dig it up and burn it for fuel.”
“I’ve seen the advertisements,” said Heather.
“Yes, the advertisements of the kindly old man in a yellow hard-hat. Crispin Salinger, sending heat and light to seventy percent of homes in North America and fuel for fifty percent of vehicles.”
“Is that even legal?” asked Marija.
“It is when you have every single lawmaker in the country too scared to utter the words anti-trust,” replied Heather.
“He has expanded to everything now – from dams to power plants, from ports to infrastructure, from real estate to defence, from data centres to ski resorts. He owns the most expensive teams in the NFL, the MLB and the NBA. There is even a rumour that Salinger has set up a venture capital fund in San Francisco and invested in a start-up offering blockchain based high value payments.”
“Just a rumour?” asked Marija, raising her brow.
“When it comes to my grandfather, always believe the rumours. By the time they are verifiable fact, he’s already onto his next move.”
Both pairs of eyes turned to Heather, who smiled wryly.
“As someone who represents him in some of his business ventures, I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“You have to understand,” said Wren, “He did not break into Forbes top five by waiting his turn or being a nice guy. The world can see the facade of a benevolent business titan who funds charities for the homeless and inaugurates children’s hospitals, but that’s all it is – a facade. A dangerously thin veneer and when it slips, there’s a monster underneath. He is a man of almost no words, but devastating action. When he makes a play, the whole world does not find out until months or years later.”
She paused before taking a gulp of wine.
“From Wall Street to K Street and every other street worth its name, he reigns supreme. Our politicians may hate each other, but they are scared shitless of him. His donations to their Super PACs and his political support can make or break careers. Have you heard of Roger Costello?”
“Senator Costello?”
“That’s how you may know him now, but ten years he was merely contesting for a small Congressional district in Pennsylvania. He raised a flutter when he questioned how Salinger Energy had won a contract for wind turbines in the state. No big press conference, just a small inquiry. The results were devastating. Within a day, his biggest donors mysteriously backed out. His brother was suddenly under investigation for tax evasion and his wife’s law firm was about to fire her because they were bleeding clients. The final straw was when his daughter was abruptly dropped from a clinical trial for a rare leukaemia treatment. The company in question said it was because her latest medical report indicated that she could have an adverse reaction. It was then that one of his advisors told him why these things had happened.”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
“It was,” affirmed Wren. “The next day, he met with a group of my grandfather’s lobbyists and made it clear he was willing to bend the knee, kiss the ring, do whatever it took to make things right. As proof of his earnestness, he issued a press release rescinding his earlier criticism and instead praising the wind turbine initiative for the thousands of new jobs it would create and the benefit to the environment. The results were immediate. His political career was fast-tracked. He had more donors than ever before. Special interest groups with deep pockets flocked to him. The IRS dropped the case against his brother for lack of evidence. His wife was promoted to partner at her firm, which had to open new offices in four states to cope with a sudden influx of clients. Not only that, but the pharma company announced they had made an error in their exclusion criteria for their clinical trial and would be happy to welcome his daughter back for their next round of treatment. She made a full recovery and is currently doing an internship with Bain Capital in London.”
“And what happened to the would-be Congressman?” asked Marija curiously.
“If I remember correctly, he won by a landslide and got picked for important committee assignments never before given to a freshman lawmaker. Four years later, he ran for US Senator and won and now, he’s quite likely to be the next Energy Secretary. All the while, he has been a vocal champion of my grandfather’s business interests.”
“I’ve met Senator Costello,” said Heather. “I’ve always thought he was a bit of a shill, but this is insane. He’s basically Salinger’s puppet.”
“Not just him. I’ve seen firsthand the queue of politicians outside his door. Whichever side of the aisle, from those who believe the world is run by a secret cabal of Satan-worshipping lizard people to those who believe you can be a different gender each day of the week – you don’t make it in Washington without his blessing. He claims to be apolitical in his views, but he has had the ear of the last six Presidents. He has been invited to the White House hundreds of times in the last forty years. At any given moment, his lobbyists know all the important Beltway players and know none of them will dare cross him. They’re all nickels and dimes to him that he carries around in his pocket like loose change.”
Wren stopped and took a deep breath. It was clear she had mixed feelings for her grandfather. A colossal presence in the world of business; a leviathan with his tentacles in every conceivable industry; a magnanimous philanthropist who had donated billions to charity and research; an impresario and art lover extraordinaire, with a private collection that both the Met and Louvre would give an arm and a leg to display.
A monster who would bring war to a country to get what he wanted.
“This isn’t even the first time he has done this, you know?” Wren went on. “In the months leading up to Operation Iraqi Freedom, the top brass of the Pentagon frequently held meetings with my grandfather’s top aides at his private ranch outside Dallas. I was too young to understand what was happening. In hindsight, it makes sense. Salinger Energy immediately spun off a subsidiary to focus on oil exploration and refining in the middle east. The headquarters are in Baghdad.”
“He made a mistake coming here, though,” declared Marija. “Our people will never surrender our lands and our natural resources to him. We will never let him win.”
Whether she actually believed that or whether it was alcohol-induced bravado, no one could tell. Heather looked at Wren and saw her thoughts reflected on the doctor’s face.
“Marija, you can’t win. Not against the might of Crispin Salinger and definitely not against the might of NATO.”
Her captor looked at her curiously before she began again.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but this isn’t even a fair fight.”
“Are you really saying we can’t win?” asked Marija, clutching her glass hard.
“I’m saying you have already lost,” said Heather plainly. “You lost the exact day the geological survey team found evidence of natural gas in the region and your father refused to roll over and let Salinger have it for a pittance. You and your people never stood a chance after that.”
“Do you agree as well, Dr Salinger?”
Wren ruefully nodded. She took a sip and spoke.
“Salinger Energy has built a skyscraper in London. Not just that, they are setting up satellite offices in Paris, Frankfurt, Zurich and Brussels. As we speak, thousands of high-powered executives are being poached from the very best European companies at ridiculously high salaries. This gas deal is my grandfather’s entry into the European energy market and he has big plans. You and your rebellion are all that stands between him and those plans. He bankrolled a coup, for God’s sake, brought down a government, just so he could have his way.”
Marija grabbed her glass and the bottle and headed to the bedroom where she slammed the door shut behind her.
“Will she be okay?”
“She’ll lock the doors, throw some stuff, swear a lot, scorch the Earth, sleep off her drinks. But then she will realise it’s the truth. Just be there for her when she does.”
Heather nodded. The woman before her seemed wise beyond her years.
“You still haven’t answered how the granddaughter of that man ended up here.”
“That’s a story for a different time and something stronger than wine.”
* *
DAY 125
Heather leaned back against the ornate bed. Her gaze absent-mindedly drifted to the window, now specked with snow. The view outside was reduced to a white sleet now. Thankfully, there were ways to stay warm.
She turned to the shock of black hair between her spread legs. A tongue thrust in and out of her in staccato bursts. It went deep inside her before pulling back repeatedly, before suddenly stopping. Heather looked down and saw Marija grinning up at her before her tongue began a new trick, a slow journey up along her inflamed lips to her clit. She vaguely tried to guide the tongue by grasping Marija’s hair, but the tongue defied her will. It latched onto her clit and she scrubbed the rough layer of her tastebuds over the sensitive button.
She closed her eyes and bucked, lifting her hips off the bed. Marija held her down admirably and left her clit and moved down her lips to the bottom. Simultaneously, two fingers from her free hand crept into Heather and began their work.
Marija was obviously no amateur at this. Her fingers had technique, twisting, curling, spreading and crossing each other inside her lover. It was as if she had a roadmap for her fleshy walls and knew exactly where to prod and where to tease.
“Can I please cum?”
“No,” said Marija sternly. “You cum without permission and I will take you back to camp tomorrow and make you repeat that performance in front of my soldiers.”
Heather stiffened, unsure how seriously to take that threat. She felt the insistent waves of orgasm course through her and threaten to overwhelm her, but she held them back.
The fingers went deeper now. Each thrust went all the way to her deepest recesses before withdrawing fully and plunging in again. The other hand was twisting and kneading her nipples, pinching them whenever possible.
“Please, now.”
“Not yet, you insolent Yankee.”
Heather clenched her eyes shut. Her nervous system was on fire, all sensory endings burnt raw with the torrents of pleasure coursing through her. Just when she felt she might have to risk the threat, she heard the magic three-letter word.”
“Now!”
It was immediate. The dam broke and then exploded. The room spun around her as she felt the indescribable throes of her climax. Her fingers and toes curled in ecstasy as she felt lighter than air, floating above the bed.
For a few minutes, there was no sound in the room apart from their laboured breathing. Neither tried to extricate themselves from the sweaty tangle of limbs.
* *
“Want one?”
Heather held an open pack of her precious Marlboros. She had already taken and lit one for herself.
“Wouldn’t want to deprive you of your cancer sticks. Give me some of yours.”
Heather held out her lit cigarette between her thumb and forefinger while Marija took a deep drag and slowly let the smoke permeate out into the darkness.
“Do you miss your old life?” Heather asked.
“A whole lot more than you do,” came the reply.
“In all fairness, I was brutally kidnapped by the Serbian Liberation Army. You, on the other hand, chose this fight.”
“Your boss, Crispin Salinger, chose the fight. I’m just fighting back.”
“Yes, I’m sure he is positively quaking in his boots back at his Sun Valley lodge.”
“He should be. He’s taken too much from me. My father, my country, the General…”
Marija’s voice choked. Heather had never seen her calm demeanour crack in the four months of her captivity. She gently stroked her smooth black hair as she started again.
“I was eight when my mother died. Anja was just a baby. She barely even remembers her. The General and his wife didn’t have children of their own, so we were their proxy. Our father was always busy rising up the political ladder, but Uncle Savic always took care of us. His wife took us out to play at the park and baked cakes for our birthdays and Christmas. You see the men out there? Most of them have been trained by him and would lay down their lives without question on his order. He inspires loyalty like no one else.”
Heather smiled and kissed her on the forehead. Marija’s recollections of the General were incongruous with the bloodthirsty monster the media had thoughtfully dubbed “The Butcher of Kosovo”.
“All his life, he only loved his country and his family… because that is what we were to him – his family. To see him on trial for crimes he did not do…”
Heather kissed her again. The sentence did not need to be finished.
“I’m so sorry for what happened to you,” said Heather softly. “I wish I was here to fight for you rather than against you.”
“It’s all right, Heather Franklin. You’re not here to fight. I am.”
Marija stood up. Heather could only see her silhouette against the sleet outside the window.
“When you look outside, what do you see?”
“Snow?”
“What do you really see?”
Heather scrunched her face in concentration before she gave up and turned her attention back to her cigarette.
“You see beautiful scenery, from lush meadows to snowy peaks to dense forests. That greedy bastard, Salinger, sees untapped natural gas. Do you know what I see, Heather Franklin?”
There was a pause while Marija formed the rest of it in her mind.
“I see home. I see where my father is buried and his father before him. My father died trying to defend my country against a corporate coup. My grandfather died fighting the Nazis in modern-day Volgograd. Same for his father too. Generations of my family have built this country. They have fought for it, bled for it, died for it. We’re all that’s left, Heather. Me and my sister. Generations of Kovačevićs live within us now.”
She sat at the edge of the bed, her eyes staring wistfully into the distance.
“You’ll die,” Heather said softly. “You’ve made too many powerful people angry for this to end any other way.”
“Maybe,” she chuckled. “But if I had stayed in London and just written an op-ed about it in The Guardian, I would have died anyway. Maybe decades later and maybe of natural causes, but my soul would have died the second I made that choice.”
Heather clasped her arms around her lover and brought the last remnants of her cigarette to her lips. Marija lightly held her wrist and took a deep drag off the end. The ember glowed brightly in the near darkness.
“To every man upon this Earth… Death cometh soon or late.. And how can man die better… Than facing fearful odds..”
“For the ashes of his fathers… and the temples of his Gods,” finished Heather and kissed the back of her neck.
They stayed like that for some time, with Heather’s arms wrapped around Marija’s muscular shoulders from behind while she sat at the edge of the bed.
It took Heather being brutally kidnapped and imprisoned for four months to feel such reverential awe for someone for the first time in her life.
* *
DAY 150
“How bad is it?”
“There are more skirmishes every day,” Wren reported. “We’re seeing many more casualties. They are getting deeper into our territory as we speak.”
“They meaning the armed forces?”
“Yes,” said Wren. “And it gets worse.”
She sat down and shook her curls off her face.
“I always heard rumours that my grandfather had his own private army. It made sense since he had entered the private military business. His company, Lansing Security, has thousands of highly trained mercenaries on demand. Not just overweight retired mall cops. We’re talking ex-special forces, Sayeret Matkal, the Spetsnaz, SAS and more. They’re hand-picked as reliably ruthless. After the pipeline is built, Lansing Security already has the contract lined up to protect it from attacks worth hundreds of millions over ten years.”
“You think he has some freelance commandos doing his dirty work?” asked Marija, clearly concerned.
“The number of soldiers not coming back and the injuries I see on the ones that do… I think they’re already here. Soldiers follow orders, they take no pleasure in what they do. But these men, they enjoy making it hurt. God help us all if they are out there.”
* *
DAY 180
“Come. I want to show you something.”
Winter had given way to spring and the snow receded from the plateau. The lush greenery unfurled around them like a billiards table. The camp was bustling with activity. Soldiers trained, no longer surprised to see the American with their leader.
Towards the far side of the camp was a steep cliff. At the base of the cliff, a cave opened up. It was wider than a road and as high as a building.
“Shall we?” asked Marija, leading the way.
Heather followed. The ceiling of the cave was interspersed with openings. Pockets of light streamed inside.
“Serbian soldiers found this cave in the nineties. It opens into a network of tunnels. They mapped out each path, dug further where required.”
It was evident that in the distant past, a river had flowed through here. A river that had eroded the rugged rock faces to smooth walls.
“You asked me before what was my endgame? You’re in it. The tunnels go on for hundreds of miles into the forests of Croatia, the valleys of Macedonia, even Albania. We have already prepared and can escape on a moment’s notice. Then we keep moving, keep fighting.”
Heather marvelled at the view around her when Marija engulfed her in a hug and pressed her lips to hers. They kissed, used to each other’s rhythm by now. Their tongues played with each other while they remained wrapped up in each other.
* *
DAY 205
It was a bloody day. There was a meeting of Salinger company executives with Serbian and Bosnian government officials in Minsk. A meeting no doubt about the delays to their timelines over acquiring the natural gas reserves and making them operational.
The meeting was rudely interrupted when one of the catering staff smuggled two bricks of C4 in under his serving cart. The entire banquet hall was blown to hell. Only charred remains with expensive Rolexes remained to be identified.
“You might as well ask.”
Heather looked up from the grim news on her tablet and looked at Marija.