"Get away with what?" she rasped.
"Stealing all of Srecko's money. I remember you from Belgrade. Whore. Zorana Zekulic. Queen of whores…until she started fucking Resja. Then she was demoted back to simple whore."
She started to answer, but a quick flick of his head caused the man behind her to pull on the garrote, cutting off her response.
"Your filthy mouth opens when I ask you a question. Nod if you understand."
Jessica nodded and looked around the room. Details of her apartment blurred, as she directed all of her mental energy to the men surrounding her. The man standing next to the brute with the bloodied nose stood with his arms crossed. A poor choice in any situation, but he obviously felt pretty confident. Jessica wasn't going anywhere, as far as he could tell. Another man stood outside of her peripheral vision. She had heard him grunt. Four men, none visibly armed, which gave her some hope. She had to make her move now, before they tied her up. She had no delusions about their intentions.
"We're going to ask some questions about the money and about Marko Resja. If you answer them quickly and truthfully, I'll kill you mercifully. If not, this will be the longest day of your life. Srecko's nephew, Josif, flew into town to personally document your end. He told me Srecko is running out of movies to watch in his cell. He requested a twenty-four-hour documentary on raping and torturing whores. I guess it's a new passion of his. Josif is setting up the film studio as we speak. Are you ready for her yet?"
Josif Hadzic appeared in the doorway, and Jessica strained to turn her head so she could fully see him. He stood there dressed in white coveralls and finished pulling on a pair of matching white rubber gloves. He was young, in his mid-twenties, with long, thick, black hair. He looked clinically psychotic in the stark white outfit.
"Almost ready. I just need to bolt one more end of the harness sling to the floor," he said, turning his attention to Jessica.
"This should be a whore's dream come true," he said, then turned his attention back to Miljan.
"When will the rest of the men be here?"
"They should be pulling up any second," Miljan said.
"Good. Ten men and no real hurry. Should be a fun time for this whore. Once everyone's sick of fucking her, we'll start the real work," he said and disappeared into the bedroom.
From the bedroom, she heard an industrial screwdriver attached to a small air compressor. She'd heard the same sounds when they were using nail guns and heavy duty hand portable equipment at the compound.
"I don't think I could ever get tired of sticking it to this one. Lots of holes to fill," the man with crossed arms said.
"I'd avoid the hole with teeth. This is a feisty little bitch," the man grasping the wire around her neck said.
"We'll just have to knock all of her teeth out," the man retorted.
Miljan leaned in close to her face and spoke softly. "If I were you, I'd start the beginning of your documentary with a little disclosure. We want to know where the money is located and how to access it. Then we want to know where to find Resja. Tell me this and I'll cut your throat right now. Josif might not like it, but his uncle is a rational man. He wants his money back, and I can always make him another snuff film. I need your answer before you walk through that door. Understood?"
She nodded again and decided it was now or never. She knew there would be no merciful deal on the other side of that door. Srecko didn't deal in mercy, and neither did any of his henchmen. Miljan Jendzejec had been a ruthless enforcer for the Panthers’ organized crime syndicate, and she had steered clear of him from the start. Even the endless supply of Russian prostitutes in Belgrade eventually learned to give him a wide berth in the city's clubs. Too many women disappeared in his company.
She gently slipped her right hand to her thigh, while pulling on the wire with her left. The struggle would hopefully provide enough of a distraction for her to remove the knife and cut the man's right forearm muscle to the bone. She could follow up with a quick jab to his groin, which should cause him to release the garrote. Once free from the piano wire noose, she would have a fighting chance. Not much of a chance, but she'd rather go down fighting than be chained to some kind of sick contraption. Her hand reached the scabbard, and she was yanked skyward.
"Looking for this?" Miljan said.
Jessica strained through blurry vision to focus as her knees settled back to the floor. Both of her hands were desperately clawing at the wire tightened dangerously around her neck. She felt a warm trickle cascade down her chest, filtering through her sticky fingers.
"I guess I have your answer," he said and lowered the hand holding her knife.
All of the men in the room laughed, and she made her decision. She closed her eyes and thought of Daniel. This was all her fault. She knew this would devastate him and wished she could change everything. Change all of this. At least she could count on him killing every last man in this room. It was a terrible consolation, but it gave her the strength to force a smile, as she prepared to fight ferociously against the wire that dug less than a few millimeters away from her carotid artery.
"Get her to her feet," Miljan said.
She heard a sharp crack, and the wire suddenly loosened. Jessica opened her eyes and saw that everything had changed. Miljan's light blue shirt was covered with bright red splatter and dark bits of tissue. Shock was plastered on his brutal face. She noticed that his right arm hung precariously by a few strands of exposed ligament below the elbow. Jessica understood what had just happened. A bullet had passed through her strangler's head and hit Miljan's forearm. The room froze, until her knife clattered against the marble floor, released from Miljan's useless grip. Without warning, she sprang forward with a single focus. Survival.
Jeffrey Munoz tossed the van keys in front of the empty ice bucket next to the coffee maker and heaved his black backpack onto the bed. Melendez tossed the oversized blue gym bag on the other bed and headed for the bathroom. He unzipped the backpack and removed a pair of binoculars and a spotting scope, placing them on the small table pushed in front of the balcony sliders. He opened the balcony door and pulled the curtains all the way to the side, opening the room to a wide view of the city, which was mostly blocked by a high-rise apartment building. He moved the table directly in front of the opening and plucked a small tripod from one of the suitcases jammed against the corner wall. Once unfolded, he attached the 15X spotting scope to the tripod and placed it on the table.
The Petroviches’ apartment sat on the eleventh floor of the high-rise in front of the Bianca Hotel and occupied the right front corner of the building. From their surveillance nest on the fourteenth floor, they could see into most of the apartment, although they had trouble seeing the back of the kitchen or the foyer. The apartment consisted of a combined kitchen-living area, and a dining nook space that occupied two thirds of the space directly in front of them. The entire front held ceiling to floor glass and several sliding doors that led to a balcony connecting the living areas with the bedroom, which comprised the remaining third of the apartment. A small white table and two chairs sat on the balcony in front of the living area.
Munoz situated the tripod on the table and angled it slightly downward before staring through the eyepiece, roughly guessing that it was aimed into the apartment. He was slightly off, and the bottom of the patio table filled his view. He gently corrected the scope until it was centered on the open patio door. What he saw froze him momentarily. He shot up from the scope and snatched his backpack from the bed, moving rapidly toward the door.