The Eyewitness (35 page)

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Authors: Stephen Leather

Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #War & Military, #Yugoslav War; 1991-1995

BOOK: The Eyewitness
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Her eyes fluttered open.

“Don't hurt me,” she croaked.

“Don't worry, little sister,” said Otto, and stroked her brow.

“We're not here to hurt you.”

Nicole closed her eyes. She was wearing a short pale blue nightgown with lace ties and dark blue flowers along the hem. She undid the ties and the nightgown fell open, revealing her breasts.

Otto bent down and pulled it around her.

“There's no need for that, little sister,” he said. He reached into his jacket and brought out a pair of metal cutters. He cut the chain, close to her wrist.

Tomislav swivelled on his barstool and drank some beer. Goncharov was still deep in conversation at one of the tables, his two men knocking back tumblers of whisky and laughing. Tomislav saw Mirko and Tafik walk in, their faces hard. They looked round the room and Tomislav saw Mirko nod in the Russian's direction. Tafik was scanning the room for possible threats.

The two men went to sit on one of the sofas. Tomislav's mobile phone beeped. It was a text message from Otto.

“I have the girl,” it said.

Tomislav stood up and nodded at Mirko, who got to his feet and walked back to the hallway, taking a ski mask from his pocket. He pulled it on, grabbed his gun from his shoulder holster, and raised it high in the air.

Tomislav put on his own ski mask as he headed towards Goncharov's table. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the Russian's head. His men started to get up but Tomislav yelled at them to stay where they were. They dropped back on to their chairs.

“Everyone down on the ground!” shouted Mirko, in Serbo-Croatian, then repeated it in English.

Tafik pulled on his ski mask before he stood up. He held his gun in both hands, and swept it around the room.

“Hands on the table!” Tomislav yelled at the bodyguards.

“Hands on the table or I blow his head off.” They complied. One said something in Russian.

“One more word and I pull the trigger!” screamed Tomislav.

Customers and girls were dropping to the ground. Several of the girls were crying.

“No one is going to get hurt,” shouted Mirko.

“Just do as you're told and we'll be on our way.”

Tomislav took out his mobile phone with his left hand.

Sasha's phone rang twice and then went silent.

“Right, that's it,” he said.

“Whatever happens, you stay here until we come out. If you leave for any reason I will hunt you down and kill you.”

“Bloody hell, Sasha, I heard what you said,” said Solomon.

“I mean it,” said Sasha, pointing a warning finger at him.

“This is serious,” “You think I don't know that?”

Sasha threw open the door and stepped out, taking the holdall with him. Across the car park, Rikki climbed out of the Toyota. Rikki had put on his ski mask, but it was rolled up like a hat. He jogged towards the entrance and got there at the same time as Sasha. He opened his jacket, to reveal a machine pistol, and pulled his mask over his face. Sasha put on his own mask, then knelt down and put the holdall on the ground. He unzipped it and took out another machine pistol, switched off the safety and nodded at Rikki.

Rikki banged on the door and Mirko opened it. Rikki moved inside quickly, cradling his weapon. Sasha followed him and Mirko closed the door.

Rikki ran into the bar, waving his machine pistol and yelling for everyone to stay down.

Sasha handed Mirko his gun, then went into the bar with the holdall.

He walked quickly towards Goncharov's table, handing another machine pistol from the holdall to Tafik on the way. Tafik tucked his own gun into the waistband of his jeans and clicked the safety off the machine pistol. A customer in overalls was whispering to one of the girls: Tafik went over to him and stamped on him between the shoulder-blades.

“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled.

Rikki was moving around the bar, kicking men and threatening anyone who moved.

Sasha went over to Goncharov's table and handed the holdall to Tomislav as he pulled out his revolver and pointed it at Goncharov.

“Stand up,” he said.

Goncharov pushed back his chair and got to his feet with his hands up.

Tomislav took a machine pistol out of the holdall and aimed it at the Russian's guards. Sasha told them to stand up, too.

When all three men were on their feet, Sasha gestured for them to stand by the door that led upstairs. They grouped together. The thugs looked at Goncharov, waiting for instructions, but the Russian said nothing.

Tomislav frisked all three and took their guns from them. He ejected the clips then tossed them behind the bar.

“Upstairs,” said Sasha, nodding at the door.

Tomislav opened the door and gestured with his machine pistol.

“This isn't my place,” said Goncharov.

“This is nothing to do with me.”

Rikki came over and shoved the barrel of his machine pistol into the Russian's stomach and pushed him through the door, then took him up the stairs with the gun pressing into the base of his spine.

Sasha told the bodyguards to follow Goncharov and covered them with his gun as they went up the stairs, with Tomislav in the rear. He stayed on the first-floor landing as Sasha and Rikki took the three captives up to the second floor. Sasha lined them up against the wall as Rikki knocked three times on the door to room thirty-eight. Otto was standing by the bed, masked, his gun levelled at the door; the girl was curled up in a tight ball, her eyes closed.

“Is she okay?” asked Sasha.

“Asleep,” said Otto.

“Out for the count.”

“Take her downstairs,” said Sasha.

Otto swung the girl effortlessly over his shoulder and left the room.

Sasha ordered the three men into the room. They walked in, their hands on their heads. Sasha covered them with his revolver as they lined up by the bed. Rikki closed the door and went to stand next to Sasha.

Sasha gestured at Goncharov.

“Kneel down,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

Sasha took a silencer from his pocket and screwed it into the barrel of his revolver.

“I already told you, this isn't my place. I'm a Russian. I'm just visiting.”

“I know who you are,” said Sasha. He pulled up his ski mask so that the Russian could see his face.

“You!” hissed Goncharov.

“You trashed my office, didn't you?”

“The bitch called you, did she? I've done more than trash your business, you piece of shit. I've taken it over. It's mine. Now get down on your knees.”

“Fuck you.”

“Suit yourself.” Sasha pointed the gun at the Russian's chest and pulled the trigger. He fired again. And again. The silencer reduced the sound of the gun to a muffled pop, like a balloon bursting underwater. The Russian fell backwards on to the bed and the springs groaned under his weight. He bounced up and down several times, then lay like a beached whale as blood seeped through his shirt. A loud rasping noise escaped his throat, a spasm ran the length of his body, then he lay still.

Rikki kicked the legs out from under one of the heavies and he hit the floor hard. Sasha told the other man to get to his knees. He did, grunting as he went down. The two men knelt together, heads bowed, as if they were about to receive communion.

“Is he your father?” asked Sasha.

The men shook their heads without looking up.

“Your brother? Your cousin?”

More headshaking.

“So he's not your family. Just an employer?”

Both men nodded. The bigger of the two crossed himself and muttered something in Russian.

“So you don't owe this man anything,” said Sasha.

“He's dead, you find someone else to work for.”

The men looked up at him, confused.

“If I give you your lives, I want you to take away his body and bury it where it'll never be found.”

The big man crossed himself again. The other was staring at Sasha, unable to believe what he'd heard.

“Do you understand? I want the body hidden.”

Both men nodded, unable to believe their luck.

Sasha lowered his gun, pulled down his mask and turned to go. Rikki put a hand on his shoulder. Sasha looked at him. He could see the concern in Rikki's eyes. He had made a mistake with Goncharov: sparing his life had led to the deaths of Karic and Katrina. Was he about to make the same mistake again?

Sasha cursed under his breath. In one smooth movement he turned to face the kneeling men again, levelled the gun at the big man's forehead and pulled the trigger. Blood and brain matter splattered across the wall behind him and he slumped backwards. The other man's mouth dropped open but before he could say anything Sasha shot him just above the nose. He fell backwards, his mouth still open in surprise.

Rikki nodded approval and opened the door.

Solomon sat tapping on the steering-wheel. He looked at his watch. Sasha had been inside for a little over five minutes. He looked across at the Toyota. Dragan was staring fixedly at the door to the brothel. Solomon was grateful that he was close by, but he couldn't help wondering why the policeman was prepared to risk so much to help him. If his bosses discovered that he had been involved in the raid on the Bosnian brothel, his job would be on the line. But the raid was only part of it: there was no doubt that Sasha intended to kill Goncharov, and while Solomon would shed no tears for the Russian, murder was still murder, and if it was ever discovered that Dragan had been involved, they'd throw away the key.

Solomon's train of thought was interrupted by the opening of the brothel's front door. It was one of the Croatians, wearing a mask and holding his machine pistol high in the air. He scanned the car park, then held the door wide. Another man in a mask ran out, a bundle over his shoulder. White arms swung from side to side as he ran across the car park. It was Otto, carrying Nicole. He ran towards the Range Rover at full pelt. Another man ran out and headed for the Toyota, a machine pistol in one hand, the black holdall in the other. It was Tomislav. Dragan already had the doors open for him and he climbed into the front seat.

Solomon gunned the engine, then took a quick look over at the guardhouse. There was no sign of the guards: they must be inside, watching television.

Sasha ducked through the door, slipping his handgun into his shoulder holster as he jogged towards the Range Rover, followed by Rikki, who cradled his machine pistol as he ran.

The man who'd opened the door stood in the doorway, his back to the outside, covering the bar with his machine pistol. Solomon figured it was Mirko. Another figure appeared next to him. Tafik. They kept their machine pistols aimed inside the brothel. Mirko looked over his shoulder, checking that the car park was still clear.

Otto reached the Range Rover, pulled open the rear door and tossed the girl on to the back seat, then climbed in next to her.

“Is she okay?” asked Solomon.

Otto pulled off his mask and used it to wipe perspiration from his face.

“She's drugged, and exhausted,” he said, 'but she'll be fine."

Nicole was on her side, her eyes closed, a line of frothy dribble down her chin. Otto took off his leather jacket and draped it over her, then slipped off his shoulder holster and placed it on the seat next to him.

Sasha got into the front passenger seat and ripped off his mask.

“Perfect,” he said. Solomon stared at his right hand. There were flecks of blood on it.

Rikki appeared at Sasha's window and gave a thumbs-up.

“Right, let's go!” said Sasha.

Solomon put the gear selector in drive and headed for the car park exit. Rikki's hand reached for his gun. He waved at Dragan and pointed to the main entrance of the brothel. Dragan drove over to Mirko and Tank, who climbed into the four-wheel-drive.

Solomon blipped the horn as he approached the guardhouse. Sasha's right hand disappeared inside his jacket, but the guard didn't give them a second look as he raised the barrier. They drove out of the car park and on to the pot-holed track. The guard lowered the barrier and went back into the guardhouse.

Solomon sighed. He'd been holding his breath without realising it. He looked into the rear-view mirror. Rikki was climbing into the front passenger seat of the Toyota.

“Eyes on the road, Jack,” hissed Sasha, and twisted in his seat. Men were running out of the brothel, yelling and pointing at the Toyota. Dragan accelerated towards the barrier. One of the guards stepped out brandishing a shotgun, but jumped back as the Toyota leaped forward.

The wooden barrier shattered as the four-wheel-drive smashed through it. The guard got off a shot but it went high. By the time he'd pumped in a second cartridge the Toyota was driving along the track towards the main road.

“They're clear,” said Sasha. He settled back in his seat and lit a cigar.

His hands were rock steady, Solomon noticed. Not a trace of nerves.

“They'll come after us,” he said, looking into the rear-view mirror.

“No, they won't,” said Sasha.

“They've seen our weaponry. And they know what happened to Goncharov. They won't be keen to have the same.”

“What did happen to Goncharov?” asked Solomon.

“I got my revenge,” Sasha said. He looked over his shoulder at the girl, who was still fast asleep.

“I hope she's grateful,” he said.

“You didn't do it for her,” said Solomon.

“No, but you did,” said Sasha.

“Now, put your foot down, we've a long way to go.”

Solomon parked the Range Rover outside his apartment block and glanced over his shoulder. Nicole was lying across the back seat, her head in Otto's lap. She was snoring softly.

He climbed awkwardly out of the car and Sasha handed him his walking-stick.

“I'll come up with you,” said Sasha.

Otto looked at his chunky diving watch.

“As soon as the others get here, we should be going,” he said. It was just after eight o'clock in the morning; they had seen dawn break on twisting mountain roads between Tuzla and Sarajevo.

“Rikki can drive you to the airport,” said Sasha.

Solomon offered Otto coffee and the Croat nodded. He eased Nicole into his arms and lifted her gently out of the car.

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