Authors: Dan Fesperman
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #United States, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Spies & Politics, #Espionage, #Suspense, #Contemporary Fiction, #Thrillers
Lie in the Dark (45 page)
The next sounds were those of locks and hasps being thrown open on boxes and footlockers belonging to the Belgians and the crew of Americans. Several Belgians shouted in protest, while one of the American crewmen demanded, “Where’s your search warrant?”
“This is not America, gentlemen,” Markovic coolly replied. “Nor is it Belgium. This is the Serbian Republic of Bosnia.”
A hand thumped the side of the crate, and Vlado braced for the end. Trying to run from here would be impossible. Even if he made it out the back of the plane and off the airstrip he’d quickly run into gunfire from other quarters of the Serb army dug in around the runway. Whoever had taken hold of the crate began pulling at a board, trying to wrench it free.
Then Markovic spoke up.
“Popovic!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The movement stopped.
“Checking this crate, sir.” He might have been shouting directly in Vlado’s ear, the sound was so close.
“Never mind that one,” Markovic said, with the slightest hint of smugness. “I can personally vouch for its contents.”
The soldier pushed the loose board back into place and moved on to the next item. Five minutes later they were done, and everything was repacked.
“Sorry to have troubled you, gentlemen,” Markovic said, satisfied that his fugitive was nowhere on board and his cargo would soon be on its way to the auction markets of Europe. “Everything here seems to be in order.”
In perfect order, Vlado thought.
The footsteps clanked off the plane, and the light dimmed as the cargo door cranked into place. A few moments later the engines rumbled back to life, and this time there was no further delay as the plane throttled forward, jolting down the runway until Vlado felt a breathless lift of his stomach as the wheels left the ground. The plane pulled up sharply and quickly curled into a steep bank, aiming for the far hills.
Vlado again pulled back enough of the packing material to look toward the small window without making himself known to the Belgians. Rooftops rushed past below, some blackened and burned, others staved in. Then the plane rolled around the end of the city to begin its run out of the valley.
Someone seemed to be moving just outside the crate, and Vlado experienced a momentary panic. Then he heard laughter, and by craning his neck a bit he could see that the Belgians were already up and out of their seatbelts, snapping Instamatics at each other, celebrating the end of their six-month tour of duty.
Out the window Vlado saw a puff of smoke from somewhere far below, a shell either leaving or landing, then the airfield rolled by, a receding strip of tarmac. The plane banked more sharply, and the silvery ribbon of the Miljacka River gleamed below in the early morning sun, and for a moment he could again taste its coppery brown water.
His last view of the city was out over the burned highrises to the east and beyond, off toward his own apartment, though his line of sight was blocked by a hill. He could, however, just see the edge of the snowy fields where, judging by the time of day, the gravediggers would soon be bending to their shovels.
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