The Abomination (35 page)

–
What do you need to make it stick?

–
An affidavit from Soraya Kovačević, together with valid chain-of-evidence documentation so that its authenticity is beyond question. Some maps and photographs of the area would be a bonus, too. But most of all, we need corroborating DNA proving that the American is the father of Soraya's child
.

“In other words,” Holly said out loud, “we not only need to find the mother, we need to succeed where Barbara Holton and Jelena Babić failed, and find the daughter as well.”

–
Where do we begin?

–
Jelena's evidence should help. She identified the Birds' Nest camp as being in the Krajina region, near a town called Brezic. I should add that time isn't on our side, though. Korovik's trial begins in just under two weeks, and full disclosure requires that we submit any evidence to the defence in advance. Once the hearing starts it'll be too late for any of this
.

Sensing that Daniele had had enough of their presence in Ca' Barbo, the two women removed themselves to a nearby
bacaro
.

“You know,” Holly said thoughtfully, once the two of them were sitting at a table in the back of the bar, with a couple of spritzes in front of them. “There are plenty of people who'd say stirring this stuff up now is a waste of time. History moves on, people forgive and forget. Croatia's joining the European Union, it's starting to have a tourist trade . . . What's the point in raking up a crime that took place almost twenty years ago, in a war that most people couldn't even find on a map?”

“That's right,” Kat agreed. “Most people would probably say that.”

Holly gave her a sideways glance. “Not you?”

Kat shook her head. “You?”

“Nope,” Holly admitted.

“A crime is a crime,” Kat said. “People should know about it. And crimes like these . . . Yes, they involved civilians. But many were directed specifically against
women
. I'm not sure that's an area where we
have
moved on, not altogether. Women are still being trafficked, women are still being treated as second-class citizens. Things are better than they used to be. But that war isn't over.”

“As Jelena found out to her cost.”

“Yes.” Kat sighed. “You ever meet any discrimination in the military?”

“As a woman, you mean? I've no complaints.”

Kat glanced at her. “Meaning, ‘some'?”

“I guess. It's like anything: in the army, respect has to be earned. Everyone has something about them that could be construed as a weakness. It's up to you to make sure it isn't what people define you by.”

Not for the first time, Kat found herself wondering if Holly Boland might be gay. It wasn't a question you could ask American soldiers, she knew. Don't Ask, Don't Tell still ran deep.

“When I first started in the Carabinieri,” she said, “women hadn't been admitted as officers for long. There was still quite a bit of, shall we say,
resistance
to the idea. They used to put pictures from porn magazines in my locker. Once I found someone had masturbated over my uniform. Another time I went to put on my shoe and it was full of piss. Everyone said I should just ignore it.”

“And did you?”

“Kind of. That is, I went and pissed in the shoes of the men I thought were doing it, when
they
weren't around. How about you?”

“Nothing in that league,” Holly said, slightly in awe of the matter-of-fact way Kat had just delivered that last sentence. “Although I did have someone try to force me into giving him oral sex recently.”

“You deal with it?”

“I guess so. I head-butted him in the groin.”

Kat nodded, equally impressed. “But for just that reason,” Holly added, “it makes me angry to think there were people prepared to drag the US Military into the Bosnian war for their own ends. We serve with honour. That means we fight according to the rules of war, and we seek out and punish those who break the rules.”

“So we do this?” Kat said.

Holly nodded. “We do this.”

As they left the bar, Kat noticed a couple from a nearby table, a man and a woman, get up to pay their bill.

“That's odd,” she said quietly.

“What is?”

“See those two? The woman in the grey coat and the man in brown? They came in soon after us.”

Holly glanced over. “That's not so surprising, is it? There must be a dozen people in here who did the same.”

“Sure.”

But when they reached the corner she hung back, watching.

“Something else about those two,” she said as she and Holly walked back towards Ca' Barbo. “They're carrying a guidebook. In Italian. But they're speaking to each other in American.”

BACK AT CA
'
BARBO
, they discussed the possibility that the couple in the bar had been following them. Here in Venice it wasn't so much of a problem, but if they were to go to Croatia it would be better to travel undetected.

“I've had some basic anti-surveillance training,” Holly said. “There's not much we can do at airports, obviously, but after that we may be able to give them the slip.”

“I'm thinking you should avoid airports altogether,” Daniele said. “It's only four or five hours to drive to eastern Croatia from here. But no hire car – the records are all computerised. And you'll need to leave your phones.”

“Why?” Kat asked. “Croatia uses the same system, doesn't it?”

“Daniele means that our phones can be used to trace us, through the transmitter masts,” Holly explained. “We'll buy pay-as-you-go phones, and turn them off when we're not using them.”

“Your credit cards too,” Daniele added. “They'll be tracing those for certain.”

“We'll take cash. If we're careful, we won't leave an electronic trail at all.”

While Holly researched their route to Brezic, Kat went back to Campo San Zaccaria. She found Piola alone in the deserted operations room, typing up his report.

“You might want to add that Findlater was lying,” she told him. “He was never in love with Soraya Kovačević. He raped her, and now, almost twenty years later, he's trying to get rid of the evidence.”

Piola looked at her stonily. “How do you know?”

“I took the hard drive to Daniele Barbo. I've been working with the American, too – the officer from Caserma Ederle. Findlater wasn't just doing this on his own. There was a whole group of them plotting how to make the war in Bosnia so terrible that NATO would have to get involved.”

A sigh escaped his lips, as if he couldn't believe how foolhardy she had been. He rubbed his face in his hands. He hadn't shaved, she noticed, and his stubble was flecked with grey. There was an open packet of cigarettes next to his keyboard.

“Have I taught you nothing?” he demanded quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Let's suppose you succeed in gathering some proof of these . . . these allegations. Then what? Don't you see – you're already fatally compromised, because of all the rules you've broken to get to this point. Any Italian court would take one look at the case and throw it out.”

“What if it isn't an Italian court we take it to? We've been in touch with the ICTY.”

“The ICTY are trying Dragan Korovik, not Bob Findlater,” he said wearily. “What about justice for the murders of Jelena Babić and Barbara Holton? What about the principle of making sure that crimes committed in Italy are brought to trial in Italy? Anyway, it's not going to happen. I'm standing you down.”

“Now you sound like Marcello.”

“Perhaps. But as your superior officer, this is my decision to make, not yours. You're not to take this any further. That's an order.”

“Then it's an order I'm going to ignore.” She hesitated. “You might as well know that I'm going to Croatia with the American officer, to find Melina's mother.”

“Kat,” he groaned, “Kat . . . Just think what you're doing. Listen to yourself. This is the Carabinieri. We don't work like this.”

“From what I've seen, we barely work at all,” she exclaimed. “Don't you see? This is my chance to get something done.”

“Hasn't it occurred to you that the reason I'm ordering you not to pursue this is that I'm thinking of
you
?” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

He pointed to the bruises on his face. “Why do you think they gave me these?”

“To shut you up.”

“And what makes you think they're not going to shut
you
up? Don't you see – if what you're saying is true, then Barbara Holton, Jelena Babić and Ricci Castiglione all died because they knew too much. And each of them knew a lot less than you do.”

“We know what Findlater looks like. We'll be on our guard.”

“Findlater had help – a lot of help.” He was silent a moment. “There was something Mareta Castiglione mentioned . . . I didn't think anything of it at the time. Ricci went to confession shortly before he was killed.”

“You think that was why they killed him? Because they thought he might be spilling his secrets to a priest?”

“Perhaps. But what if it was more than that – what if it was the priest himself who reported that Ricci was leaky?” He shook his head. “If your American's right, you're up against an extraordinary alliance. You think those people are just going to stand by and watch while you dig up the evidence?”

She said stubbornly, “It's got to be done.”

He stood up. “Kat . . . Please. I've messed everything up. My marriage, this investigation . . . The one thing I won't add to that list is you. Leave the others to pursue this madness if they want to. I don't care about them.”

She couldn't think what to say.

“I love you,” he said hoarsely. “Just because. . .” He took a breath. “The decision I made, to go back to my wife . . . I had to. I hope you understand that. It's my duty. But my heart's with you.”

“You wanted me off the investigation. Even before today.”

“I can't ever work with you, Kat. But that's
because
of how I feel, not because my feelings have changed.”

She was still turning this over in her mind when he kissed her. For a moment she let him, and for a moment more she kissed him back, remembering how good it was, how protected and safe she felt in his arms. Then she pushed him away.

“This isn't fair, Aldo. You're doing bad things and saying they're for good reasons. If I was a man, you wouldn't be trying to protect me like this. And that's why I have to ignore you. I'm going to Croatia to find Soraya Kovačević. Then I'm coming back here to find her daughter. I'll keep you informed of my progress, but I won't let you get in my way.”

AS WELL AS
the paper-strewn drawing room at Ca' Barbo, and the almost deserted office at Campo San Zaccaria, there was another operations room that had been set up to deal with the case.

It was small and neat, and it occupied a glass-walled office four thousand miles away, on the fourth floor of an anonymous building in Norfolk, Virginia.

Despite the fact that none of the people in the room were on the payroll of the US Department of Defense, most wore US combat fatigues, complete with badges of rank.

“Their next move is Croatia,” a sergeant reported, easing off his headphones and speaking over his shoulder. “They mean to go and find the mother.”

“Excellent.” The comment came from the only man in the room not in uniform. His dark suit and crisp white shirt were, however, pressed with military precision. “We have good friends in Croatia, for obvious reasons. When do they fly?”

“Hermes' understanding is that they'll be driving.”

“So we find the mother before they do,” one of the men in uniform suggested.

“That would be a short-term answer,” the man in the suit said thoughtfully. “I think we should aim to find a more lasting solution. This has taken up enough of our attention already.”

The other men waited for orders. If their opinion was wanted, it would be asked for.

“We'll ask our friends in the Croatian Army to organise a field exercise,” the man in the suit said at last. “An emergency drill to test their combat readiness, as per the terms of our on-going training contract with them. Fortunately the Croatian media is still reasonably grateful to their military. A small but tragic accident involving two foreign nationals will simply be taken as proof that more such training is needed.”

“Crixus is keen no harm comes to his agent.”

The man in the dark suit nodded. “All the more reason that it looks like an accident, then. Crixus will get over it.”

THEY SET OFF
before dawn the following day, driving northeast from Venice in Holly's tiny car, with the mountains ahead of them and the sea on their right. At Palmanova, the very tip of the Adriatic, the road arced east and then south, following the great curve of the Laguna di Marano. Few tourists came to these eerily empty marshlands, fewer still at first light, but the road was full of thundering lorries with Slavic names on their sides.

When they'd left Venice, the interior of Holly's car had been military-neat. But the floor was soon strewn with Kat's chocolate wrappers and empty drinks cans. She saw Holly glance at them and twitch, but with her hands on the wheel there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it.

Beyond Trieste they passed into tiny Slovenia. Although part of the former Yugoslavia, Slovenia had been a member of the EU since 2004, and as a result it seemed little different to being in Italy. Half an hour later, though, they crossed into Croatia, and it was as if they were driving into a different century as well as a different country. In the fields, farmers with gnarled, leathery faces slapped at the haunches of oxen yoked to ploughs. Women wore headscarves and jerkins made of some thick, indistinguishable material. Yet some of the houses had satellite dishes on their walls, and they occasionally glimpsed BMWs and other luxury cars.