He found too many flaws with the sudden idea. He carried the wrong ammunition magazines for an assault rifle, and would not have time to grab more if he wanted to survive the first few seconds. Plus, Radovan’s entourage was comprised of special operations types that had worked together for years. He could handle them alone, with the element of surprise, but in this scenario, their presence would weigh heavily against his odds of survival.
Just as Marko finished his nearly instantaneous assessment, the group dispersed, and he spotted his only hope of surviving the day. Andrija Brujic was among Radovan’s security team.
As Radovan approached, Nenad Sojic, de facto platoon commander, issued orders to Marko’s group.
“Turn around and face the pit!”
Marko turned his body, along with most of the group. A few hesitated, possibly sensing what was in store for them, and one of the men, a particularly overzealous Nationalist named Vukasin Mokric, refused to follow Nenad’s abrupt order. Vuk wasn’t intelligent enough to realize the gravity of the situation, and Marko assumed his defiance had more to do with one of his many personality disorders than any sudden enlightenment regarding their fate.
Nenad issued an order directed at the platoon, and Marko heard the metallic sounds of several rifles put into an immediate ready state. Rounds chambered and safeties disengaged. He didn’t have to look back to know that these rifles were now aimed at their backs, or in the case of Vuk, at his face.
“What the fuck is going on here? If this is some kind of initiation joke, I’m already fucking initiated. Get your rifles out of my face,” Vukasin said.
The platoon commander ordered him to turn around, and Marko heard a few of the soldiers reinforce the command.
“Nenad, this is fucking bullshit. I joined this group to fuck and kill these pieces of shit. Not to be treated like a dog,” he persisted.
“All thieves are dogs,” a voice boomed, followed by two sudden pistol shots.
Marko heard Vuk’s body hit the ground, and everyone in the line started mumbling prayers.
“Fuck with Mr. Hadzic’s money, and you get treated like a rabid dog. No better than the scum rotting in the pit at your feet,” the voice continued, and Marko now recognized it as Radovan Grahovac’s.
“Just one week ago, a large sum of money disappeared from one of Mihail Kunac’s safe houses. This money was on its way to Mr. Hadzic, when someone broke into the safe house, killing the guard responsible for watching the money,” Radovan said.
“Evidence suggests that this was an inside job. Mr. Kunac had just stepped out when the money was stolen. I arrived with a small group to personally collect this money, no more than thirty minutes after the hit. The poor shit assigned to watch the money was still fucking warm when we got there. This is all too much of a coincidence for me, and you can only imagine my embarrassment. I’m ultimately responsible for this money, and having to explain to the loss of nearly fifty thousand dollars to Mr. Hadzic is not a pleasant experience!”
Fifty-three thousand, two hundred and eighty dollars to be exact.
“I had to front this fucking money to keep my own head from showing up at his feet! I haven’t had a theft like this in over three years. So what’s changed? We bring on a fresh batch of recruits, and I suddenly have a fucking major theft on my hands. I want this money back, and one of you pieces of shit knows exactly where to find it! Someone better start talking, or every one of you will end up in that pit… blamed for the worst massacre in recent history.”
Time stood still, silent for several moments, until another gunshot broke the quiet, startling all of them. Marko felt a warm spray hit the left side of his face, and a large volume of thick, dark red fluid bathed the filthy corpses directly below him in the pit. Time slowed even further for Marko, as he registered the absolute insanity of the moment. He stood in a line of men about to be executed by a stark raving mad lunatic, and very little stood between death or salvation. His thoughts came quickly and clearly, as the man’s body was kicked into the pit before it could even fall to the earth.
Marko gauged the moment and decided to let one more person die before making his play. He figured the odds were in his favor. Grahovac wasn’t likely to shoot two people standing side by side. He knew the next bullet wouldn’t be his. He figured the next one to be killed would be the first person to open their mouth.
“Mr. Grahovac, I wasn’t even in Belgrade when this…”
He was right. A sudden gunshot completed the kid’s sentence, and another body tumbled into the pit, momentarily disturbing the flies.
“I’ll kill every one of you until I figure out who did this,” he snarled, and started to walk back toward Marko.
At this point, Marko knew that Radovan had no intention of sparing any of them. He apparently had no idea who stole the money, and based on the fact that he had potentially killed three people who might have admitted the crime, it was clear that he didn’t care. Radovan was deviously intelligent, and Marko figured this public stunt was designed to seal his legend as the most ruthless, unforgiving crime boss in Serbia.
If he couldn’t punish the actual thief, he could send a clear message that stealing would result in random, murderous consequences. Sensing that his time was running short, Marko made a comment that he purposely intended to be undecipherable by Radovan. He made it quick, and there was an air of confidence to the statement that might have prevent his immediate execution.
“You have a traitor on your security detail. Someone with very expensive taste.”
Radovan rushed up behind him and growled into his ear. “What did you say, thief?”
“One of your guard’s is wearing a really expensive watch. I’ve seen similar watches, I think, in Berlin… while fucking around at a very expensive mall. I noticed it on him when you came by the assembly area two days ago. He was inspecting some of our weapons, and I got a close-up look,” he whispered, and Grahovac remained silent for the longest few seconds of Marko’s life.
“Which guard?” he demanded.
“Can I point to him?” Marko said.
“Yes, but if you fuck with me, I’ll spill your guts all over the ground. Do it. I don’t have all day,” he said, and Marko sensed that he had taken a few steps back.
Marko turned purposefully, and quickly located Andrija Brujic, who looked amused by what appeared to be a new act in Radovan’s travelling psycho performance. A few members of the platoon exchanged glances, and he could tell they were awaiting something horrific, yet enticingly different. Brujic adjusted the brim of his camouflage cap and touched his flattened nose. When Marko raised his hand and pointed at Brujic, the cocky smile vanished, and Marko detected a confused panic settle over the man.
“Andrija, roll up your sleeves,” said Grahovac.
Brujic hesitated, glancing around as if it was a joke.
“Roll up your sleeves,” he repeated calmly.
When Brujic didn’t respond immediately, he lost his composure.
“Wrestle that fuck to the ground!” he screamed, spurring several members of the platoon to grab Brujic’s arms and pin him to the dirt.
“Roll up his fucking sleeves!” Grahovac spat.
Without ripping the buttons, the camouflage sleeves only came up midway between the wrist and elbow, but it was enough to expose a thick, shiny watch. Very expensive looking.
“I want to see that watch,” Grahovac said, taking a few steps away from Marko toward the messy tangle of men sprawled out on the ground.