Nathan nodded. “Thanks.”
“We’ll meet you at the safe house,” Justin said.
“For sure,” Nathan said.
“Drive safe and be safe,” said Carrie.
“You too,” replied Nathan.
Justin got behind the wheel of the silver BMW. He drove slowly down a dirt path, which soon connected to a country road. They would travel through a series of villages and small towns until they reached Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia, in the evening. Nathan and his partner would follow behind at a considerable distance. The traffic police would find nothing compromising on them or in the cars if they decided to stop them. They carried no weapons, no illegal items, and travelled under the protection of Canadian diplomatic passports.
Chapter Five
Justin and Carrie were the first to arrive at their safe house, which was a small apartment on Marshall Tito Street in downtown Sarajevo. Nathan and Dragan joined them about ten minutes later. No one had experienced any problems during the drive.
Justin made coffee, and they sat in the living room. Carrie turned on a Sony television set on a stainless steel and glass entertainment unit, and they watched the evening news. The police had arrived at the scene before the news crews. They had cordoned off the area and were keeping reporters at bay. Bodies covered by white sheets were lifted onto gurneys and wheeled into ambulances. A couple of fire trucks were on one side. They had quenched the Hummers that had caught fire, and pools of white foam were still visible around the burned vehicles. Six or seven people in civilian clothes were roaming beyond the police line, scrutinizing the area around the Hummers, pointing at things and taking notes.
Images switched to the news studio, where two talking heads started to discuss what Justin supposed was the shootout.
“What are they saying?” he asked Dragan, who spoke Bosnian, Croatian, and Serbian, all three languages of Bosnia and Herzegovina.
“Recapping the story and guessing who’s behind it,” Dragan replied. “According to the voiceover when they were rolling the shots from the highway, the police count is of eight dead and six wounded.”
Justin asked, “Any women among the dead?”
“Yes. One of the casualties is reported to be a woman. No name.”
Justin bit his lip and slowly shook his head. He knew the name of the woman he had shot during the ambush.
Dragan continued, “The police spokesman said they suspect this was the job of local criminal networks, but they gave no names. They’re said Hakim was known to the police because of his ties to drugs and arms trafficking.”
“Are they saying anything about his religious extremism?” asked Carrie.
“No. The police do not like to admit Bosnia has a terrorist problem. They’ll be quick to call this a revenge hit, a payback from someone Hakim had crossed in the past in his shady deals.”
“Have they found the places from where we attacked the convoy?” Justin asked.
“No, but the police are searching the forest. They have talked to the survivors, and it is only a matter of time before they discover them.”
Justin shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll not be able to link us to this shooting, and we’ll be gone tomorrow.”
Dragan nodded.
“Nathan and Dragan, will you get us some supper?” Justin asked them.
“Sure thing, boss,” Nathan replied. “What do you want to eat?”
Carrie ordered a goat cheese salad and fig pudding. Justin got rice with cevapi, the local version of lamb and beef kebobs, served with flatbread and roasted vegetables. Nathan took Dragan’s advice and chose chorba, a thick soup of meat and vegetables, burek, a meat-filled pastry, and baklava, the famous dessert full of walnuts and drenched in honey.
Justin brewed a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, while Nathan and Dragan went to pick up their supper from the Mediterranean Café a few blocks away from their apartment. He filled two cups and sat down on the uncomfortable leather sofa next to Carrie.
“I think I screwed up today,” he said in a low voice after he handed Carrie her cup.
Her hand froze in mid-air, and she gave him a sideway glance.
“Why? Oh, the woman,” she said.
“Yes. I killed an innocent woman.”
Carrie sighed. She put her cup on the coffee table.
“She was reaching for a gun, so she could shoot at us.”
Justin looked into the distance, somewhere beyond the half-shut Venetian blinds in the kitchen window. He ran his hands through his thick black hair, then turned his gaze to Carrie. “She was trying to hold her husband’s hand.”
Carrie peered deep into his eyes. “Are you absolutely, a hundred percent, sure?”
Justin shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
“There’s your answer. In the middle of the gunfight, with a millisecond to think and make a decision, you did the right thing. That’s what our report will say, and McClain will have no problem accepting our version of the story.”
James McClain was the CIS Director General of Intelligence for the North Africa Division and their direct boss. Justin did not work for McClain; Justin worked for his country. And Carrie did not work for Justin. They worked together.
“I’m not worried about that,” Justin said with a shrug. His voice had grown stronger, firmer. “He’s curious, and he’ll ask plenty of questions, but we have all the answers.”
“Then what? You’re worried he’ll make you see a shrink?”
Justin laughed, mostly to cover his uneasiness. “I have to see Faith Thompson for my annual psyche eval.”
“And how does that make you feel?” Carrie asked, barely containing her laugher.
“I’d rather step into Taliban territory armed with just a toothpick.” He groaned. “Joking aside, my sessions with Faith have helped me deal with some of my stress and anger, so I can concentrate on the task at hand and better navigate in the fog around me. I just don’t like her bringing everything to a full circle and explaining most things by referring to my hate for my dad and to my mom’s absence.”
Carrie nodded. She knew all these details about Justin’s past. They had dated for some time before deciding they were better off being friends. During that time, Justin had often emptied his heart’s secrets. His mother had driven off a bridge in her car when he was eleven years old. The police had concluded it was an accident and had blamed the dark night and the icy roads. But Justin was privy to information unknown to the police officers. He had witnessed the verbal abuse and the physical threats when his father was around and the neglect and the abandonment when he was gone on his long business trips. His mother’s death had not been an accident.
Justin grew up fast and strong, so he could stand up to his father and to everyone else who threatened the people he loved. He had been too young and powerless to be there for his mother, but was not going to let that happen again to anyone else in his life. As soon as he could, he joined the Service, which gave him a second family or perhaps the only family he ever had.
Carrie said, “Things are getting better with your dad, aren’t they?”
Justin shrugged. “Well, we talk and we see each other more often now. But things are still mostly tense. People think you can make up for lost years and decades in a matter of weeks and months. You can’t.”
Carrie nodded. She looked straight into Justin’s eyes.
“I’m worried Anna will be in the same situation as that woman today. Someone is targeting me, and she ends up caught in the crossfire.”