The Birthday Girl (2 page)

He lost track of time after just a few days. The basement was without windows and illuminated by a single bulb which hung from the ceiling by a frayed wire. Sometimes it was on but usually he was in darkness. Electricity was as scarce as medical supplies in the war-torn city. His meals came at irregular intervals, so he had no way of knowing what time, or day, it was.

The wait for news of the Bosnians' demands seemed interminable. Stjepan said that the tape was being sent over to the United States because they wanted to deal directly with Freeman's company. Freeman knew that made sense: the US government prohibited the sort of deal he'd been planning to sign with the Serbian forces and he doubted that they would want to negotiate with Bosnian guerrillas. Once Maury Anderson heard that he was in trouble, Freeman knew he'd move heaven and earth to get him out. If anyone was to blame for Freeman's predicament it was Anderson and his insistence that Freeman fly to the former Yugoslavia to find new markets for the minefield clearing system they'd developed. NATO forces had turned him down flat, saying that they were developing their own system, and the only real European interest had come from the Serbian forces. A representative of the Serb military had made contact with Freeman in Rome and asked him to fly to Split for a demonstration. Freeman had wanted to refuse and had called Anderson in Baltimore to tell him as much. That was when his partner had broken the news of yet another US Army contract that had fallen through. The workforce of almost two hundred men was depending on Freeman, and if he didn't come up with a THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 9 European contract soon almost half of them would have to be laid off. CRW Electronics was a family firm, founded by Freeman's father-in-law, and Freeman knew every one of the employees by name. Anderson had put him in an impossible position. He had no choice but to go.

Twelve hours later he was in a hotel in Split meeting a German middle-man who knew how to slip through the US trade blockade, for a price. Everything had been done in secrecy, including getting the equipment into the country on a mercy relief convoy, and Freeman had no idea how the Bosnians had discovered what he was up to. He'd asked Stjepan, but the man had refused to answer.

Stjepan was more forthcoming on his own background. Over the course of several days, he told Freeman that he had been fighting since Croatia and Slovenia declared their independence in June 1991, splitting the Balkans into warring factions. He was a Muslim and his parents had been killed by Serbs, though he refused to go into details. His sister, Mersiha, was also one of Freeman's guards and more often than not it was the young girl who brought his food and emptied the plastic bucket that they made him use as a toilet. Unlike Stjepan, Mersiha refused to talk to Freeman. At first he assumed that she couldn't speak English, because no matter what he said to her she glared at him as if she wished he were dead, and some days she would put his food just out of reach and later take it away, untouched.

Freeman 'waited until Stjepan seemed in a relaxed mood before asking him about his sister. He said that she had been particularly hard hit by the death of their parents, and that she could speak some English. Their mother had been a schoolteacher, he said. Freeman asked Stjepan why he had the young girl with him but Stjepan shrugged and said there was nowhere else for her to go.

Mersiha's black hair was tied back in a ponytail and her face was always streaked with dirt but there was no disguising her natural prettiness. Freeman knew that she'd be a lot prettier if she smiled and it became almost a compulsion, the urge to crack her sullen exterior and expose the real girl beneath. He greeted her each time she came down the steps, and thanked her when 10 STEPHEN LEATHER she put his food close enough for him to reach. He even thanked her whenever she emptied his plastic bucket, and he always used her name, but no matter how pleasant he tried to be, her expression never altered. Eventually he could stand it no more and he asked her point blank why she was so angry with him. His question seemed to have no more effect than his pleasantries, and Freeman thought that maybe she hadn't understood, but then she turned to him, almost in slow motion, and pointed her Kalashnikov at his stomach. The gun seemed huge in her small hands, but she handled it confidently and he watched in horror as her finger tightened on the trigger. He cowered as the young girl's lips parted into a grimace of hatred and contempt. 'I hope they let me kill you,' she hissed, and jabbed at him with the barrel of the gun as if it had a bayonet on the end. She looked as if she was going to say something else but then the moment passed and she regained her composure. She turned to go, but before she went back up the stairs she kicked his bucket to the far side of the basement, well beyond the reach of the chain.

The next time Freeman saw Stjepan he asked him why his sister seemed to hate him so much. Stjepan shrugged and in broken English said that he didn't want to talk about his sister. And he warned Freeman not to antagonise her. Freeman nodded and said he understood, though he wasn't sure that he did. He asked Stjepan how old the girl was and the man smiled. She'd be thirteen years old the following day.

As soon as she came down the stairs the next day, carrying a plate of bread and cheese, Freeman wished her a happy birthday in her own language, trying to pronounce it exactly as Stjepan had told him. She showed no reaction as she put the tin plate on the floor and pushed it towards him with her foot, covering him all the time with the Kalashnikov. Switching back to English, he told her that he had wanted to get her a present but that he hadn't been able to get to the shops. Her face remained impassive, but at least she was listening to him and her finger remained outside the trigger guard. Freeman began to sing 'Happy Birthday' to her, his voice echoing off the walls of his prison. She looked at him in disbelief, a worried frown on her face as if she feared that he'd gone crazy, then she realised what he was doing. When THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 11 she smiled it was as if the sun had come streaming into the basement.

Maury Anderson's office was like the man himself - showy, pretentious even, and definitely built for comfort. Katherine walked across the plush green carpet and sat down on the imported sofa which curved around one corner of the room. It was the best office in the building, with its view of the woods and fields, and no expense had been spared on its furnishings. It was the office that the company used to impress its clients. Her husband's office was in stark contrast, a small cubicle overlooking the car park with a threadbare carpet, cheap teak veneered furniture and one sagging couch.

Katherine studied Anderson as she lit a Virginia Slim. He was pacing up and down in front of his massive eighteenth-century desk, rubbing his hands together. He was dressed as if he were going to a funeral: a black suit, starched white shirt, sombre tie and gleaming black shoes. 'You said you'd heard from the kidnappers,' Katherine said, crossing her legs.

'Uh-huh,' Anderson grunted. 'It arrived by Federal Express an hour ago.'

Katherine looked across at the large-screen television and video recorder which was normally used to show the firm's promotional films to clients. 'A video?'

Anderson stopped pacing. Katherine had never seen him so tense. She wondered how bad it could be. 'Canlgetyouadrink?' he asked.

Katherine shook her head. 'Just show me the video, Maury,' she said. She took a long drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke out through tightly pursed lips.

'You'd better prepare yourself, Katherine. He doesn't look too good.'

Katherine nodded curtly and Anderson pressed the 'play' button. The screen flickered and then Tony was there, sitting on a stool and holding a sheet of paper that looked as if it had 12 STEPHEN LEATHER been torn from a child's exercise book. He was staring at the camera, then he jumped at a whispered command. He began to read from the note.

'I am held by Bosnian forces who are struggling against invaders from Serbia. The Serbs are killing our country like Hitler in Europe.' Tony grimaced at the unwieldy English and looked off-screen. A harsh whisper told him to go on. 'Anyone who trades with the Serbian invaders is an enemy of the people of Bosnia and will be treated so. If I am to be released, you must agree not to sell your weapon to the Serbs.'

'Weapon?' Katherine said. Anderson held up a hand telling her to keep quiet until the end of the message.

'As compensation for breaking the United Nations embargo, you will give the Bosnian forces fifty of the equipment.' Tony broke off from reading and looked at the camera. 'They mean fifty of the MIDAS systems, Maury. They'll want the complete kits.' The man standing behind the camera told Tony to keep to the script, but Tony insisted that he had to explain what was meant so that there'd be no misunderstanding. The off-screen voice grudgingly agreed. 'They also want a quarter of a million dollars in cash, Maury. When it and the equipment is delivered to our contact in Rome, I'll be released,' Tony continued. His voice faltered. 'If this doesn't happen, I'll be killed. This video is proof that I'm alive and well. You'll be contacted within the next few days so that arrangements can be made.'

The screen flickered as if the camera had been switched off and then Tony reappeared, looking directly into the camera. It felt to Katherine as if he was staring right at her and she shivered. 'Katherine, I love you,' he said. 'Please don't worry, this will work out all right, I promise.' His hand went up to his bruised and unshaven face and he smiled thinly. 'Don't let this upset you. I cut myself shaving,' he said. He smiled, and for a moment it seemed almost genuine. 'They're treating me okay, and if Maury does as they ask they say I'll be released unharmed. I think they mean it, so just hang in there. I'll be back before you know it.'

A whispered command made him turn to his right and Katherine got a closer look at his battered face. 'Oh my God,' she whispered. 'What have they done to you?'

'Just one more minute,' Tony pleaded, then he turned back to the camera. 'Don't even think about coming over here, Katherine. It's not safe. They'll probably release me in Split and I'll fly to Europe, Rome maybe. I always promised you a trip to Rome, remember? I love you, Katherine, and ...'

The screen went blank in mid-sentence. Katherine turned to Anderson. 'Have they been in touch yet?'

Anderson shook his head. 'No, like I said, the video's only just arrived. I'll stay here night and day until they call.'

'He's in a terrible state, Maury.'

'I think it looks worse than it is. They haven't let him wash or shave.'

'Maury, he's been beaten.'

Anderson went behind his desk and sat down. 'I don't know what to do, Katherine.'

Katherine realised she'd finished her cigarette. She stubbed the butt in a crystal ashtray and lit another. 'Do we have the equipment?'

Anderson nodded. 'Sure. We were planning to sell them to the Serbs. They're all ready to go, complete with SerboCroat instruction manuals.'

Katherine blew a tight plume of smoke up to the ceiling. 'So we do as they say.'

'You realise that with the cash we're talking about a million dollars, give or take?' Anderson said.

Katherine's eyes hardened. 'And you realise that we're talking about my husband,' she said coldly. 'Give or take.'

Anderson held her glance for several seconds, then he nodded. 'I'll make the arrangements,' he said quietly.

'Do that, Maury,' Katherine said. 'Do whatever it takes.'

Over the weeks of his captivity, Mersiha opened up slowly to Freeman like a flower sensing the morning sun. It started with her wishing him good morning when she came to empty his bucket, and then she began to ask him if there was anything 14 STEPHEN LEATHER he wanted. He asked for a razor and soap and when she finally brought it to him she sat on her heels and watched openmouthed as he shaved.

Her English was surprisingly good. Mersiha explained that her mother had been a teacher of languages - English, French and Hungarian - and that before the war she'd spent most evenings at the kitchen table studying. Freeman asked her what had happened to her parents but she'd answered with just one word: dead. She resisted any further probing and Freeman realised that if he pushed too hard he risked damaging their fragile relationship.

Despite her new willingness to talk to him, the girl left Freeman in no doubt that he was still her prisoner. She never got within range of the chain which kept him bound to the boiler, and the Kalashnikov never left her hands. And while she smiled and sometimes even laughed with him, he was always aware of a hardness in her eyes which belied her years. Freeman wondered what she would do if her brother's demands were not met, whether she would still be prepared to kill him. He decided that she would, without hesitation.

The black limousine pulled up almost silently and the back door opened. Maury Anderson could see nothing through the darkened windows but he could smell Sal Sabatino's cologne and cigars. He climbed into the luxurious car and closed the door behind him.

The man sitting in the back seat made even the stretch limousine feel cramped. He sat with his legs wide apart, his ample stomach threatening to break free from the constraints of his tailored trousers. He had a big cigar in his right hand and a glass of red wine in his left. 'This better be fucking important, Maury,' he said. He jabbed the cigar at Anderson, punctuating his words.

'It is, Mr Sabatino. This could be what you've been waiting for.'

Sabatino's smooth-skinned plump face was covered with a thin film of sweat despite the limousine's air-conditioning. He took a long sip of wine and studied Anderson with eyes that looked like they belonged to a dead fish.

'The company's going to need cash to get Tony out. A lot of cash. The banks sure as hell won't give it to us, so it gives me a reason to look for outside investment. And who do I know who wants to invest?'

'How much?'

'As much as you want, Mr Sabatino. With Tony out of the way, I'll be able to approve it. His wife's too upset to even think about company business. She'll leave it up to me.'