By that time Skender had invested a great deal in the US and he might have continued to operate just below the radar had an investigation into his Bajrak partners back in Albania not revealed a direct link with Bin Laden’s weapons-supply network in the period leading up to the Twin Towers strike. There was evidence to suggest that Skender’s narcotics- trafficking routes had continued to be used by the terrorist leader. Furthermore, Bin Laden was receiving funding for his activities directly from Albanian sources connected with Skender. At one point it looked as if Skender’s goose had been well and truly cooked.
However, the man was not without a string or two to his bow and the survival instincts that had saved his life when he’d been a boy were as strong as ever. In the final analysis it was an American government that had given Skender the power he currently enjoyed. If necessary he could produce damning evidence of American financing and training of personnel who later became key players in the international terrorist arena. But that was not enough to keep him out of jail since the new administration, although not squeaky-clean itself, would not be overly concerned about any exposé of their predecessors’ dodgy foreign policies.
Skender had to offer something substantial to keep the wolves at bay and he was quick to respond. He promised to provide information that would allow the Americans to monitor terrorist supply lines – and he indicated that he might be able to give them something even bigger. He suggested that he could one day deliver Bin Laden himself. This was a daring ploy but it had the desired effect and gave him time to reorg anise. The fact was that he could indeed be very useful in delivering Bin Laden to the Americans and they believed as much. But that would also pitch Skender from the frying pan into the fire, not just because of the danger from the Islamic militants under Bin Laden’s control but also because of the vast number of anti-westerners among his own people in Albania.
The Americans understood that as well and were willing to give Skender the space to manoeuvre, but they would not sit back and allow him to dictate the schedule entirely. Serious problems in Iraq, Afghanistan and other parts of the world meant that they were anxious to see some worthwhile results from this special relationship. Time was running out for Skender: short of the big prize, no matter what he gave the Americans they would always want more. They would hound him until he delivered on his promise, with the clear-cut understanding that if Osama Bin Laden died in the interim Skender would be expected to deliver the terrorist leader’s replacement.
To add to these troubles, Skender had been warned that all his current and future activities within the US had to be legitimate and above board. Regardless of any help he provided against international terrorism his deal was not a licence to run a crime syndicate. He was given a period of grace to get his business affairs in order and its end point was now in sight. That was why matters like the extracurricular activities of his employees and the murder of the Englishwoman were counter-productive for Skender’s plans. The transition from criminal activity to legitimate ditto was bound to have its problems.
Ultimately, Skender wanted to be rid of all ties to his country -men. But the harsh truth was that he would always need their protection and the only way he could maintain that was to rule as an Albanian clansman. There was no way around it. He would have to let Cano have his revenge if he was to maintain stability within the ranks. It was the Kanun.
Skender faced Cano and stared at him for a moment. ‘I want you to be sure of everything before you make a move on this man – do you understand?’
‘Don’t worry.’
Skender drew closer to Cano so that his face filled his subordinate’s vision. ‘Don’t worry? Is that what you just said to me? Don’t you ever tell me what to do again, ever.’
Skender walked off through the doors.
Cano cursed himself for being so stupid. The comment had been a slip of the tongue but it had been the wrong time to make such a mistake. It was also a reminder that working for Skender was like riding a wild tiger – if he should ever lose his grip he would fall off and be torn apart. Cano had no illusions about his place in the operation and no ambitions to be anything more than what he already was to Skender. He could never take the reins. He was and would always be an outsider. Had things gone better for him in Kosovo perhaps he could have had his own Bajrak but that was now nothing more than a nostalgic dream. He often wondered when his usefulness would end and if he should flee before then and hope to find a place to hide. But Skender would be relentless: he would set the world against Cano who would be hunted down, for his crimes in Kosovo as well as for his betrayal of Skender. He was in limbo and as power -less as those condemned to dwell in that place of myth. But that was a concern for another time. Right now Cano was in a position of control and he also had a mission: to avenge his brother’s murder.
Cano walked inside the building and followed Skender into one of several elevators, took a key-card from his pocket and slipped it into a slot. The doors closed. Seconds later the high-speed elevator accelerated between floors and came to a smooth stop at the top of the building.
The doors opened and the two men stepped out onto a floor where workmen were laying cables and decorating surfaces. Skender and Cano walked along a curved corridor that was green glass on one side, revealing a large boardroom. Seated in luxury chairs were several men in expensive suits, most of them as old as Skender.
‘Gentlemen.’ Skender beamed as he walked through the glass doors that slid open automatically as he approached. ‘Thank you for coming to my new offices.’
The men got to their feet out of politeness but nothing else. It was clear that they were powerful men in their own right, a meeting of old lions who still possessed the sharpest of teeth and claws. They were a group of wealthy bankers and investors, all legitimate and all seeking to become even richer. In the centre of the room was a table with a large model of a modern residential and business community at the edge of a lake. Skender’s secretary was waiting for him and handed him a file while Cano pushed a button on the glass door. It slid closed, leaving him outside in the corridor and cut off from the meeting. ‘Okay, guys,’ he said to the construction workers in the corridor. ‘Time for a smoke break.’
The men immediately downed their tools and headed for the emergency stairwell without a word or a second glance back. As the last man filed through the exit door Cano locked it from the inside and stood alone in the silent corridor. He watched a moment while the men surrounded the model on the table, Skender’s lips moving but not a sound penetrating the glass. Then Cano walked into a small kitchen by the exit, closed the door behind him and removed his mobile phone from a pocket. He punched in a number and held it to his ear as it chirped a couple of times before someone picked up at the other end.
‘Valon. What we talked about this morning – go ahead. Call me as soon as you have anything.’
Cano ended the call and pocketed the phone. Then he reached inside a pocket and removed a bottle of pills. His hand started to shake as he undid the top. His eye socket, which had been pulsating painfully for the past hour or so, had suddenly become excruciating. He popped the painkillers into his mouth, filled a plastic cup from the water dispenser and washed them down. As he stared at his battered face in the small mirror on the wall his expression changed to a snarl as the image of the man he hated most in the world overlaid his own.