Page 83

I got on the net and said, “Jennifer, pack our stuff. Everyone else, return to the hotel. They’re on the run and trying to get off this island.”

Chapter48

Crossing the Franjo Tudjman Bridge, which spanned a spit of water running into the Adriatic Sea, the outskirts of Dubrovnik on the other side, Shakor saw people attached to harnesses and standing on a ledge. His first thought was that they were being executed for something heinous that they’d done. Public executions were something he was very familiar with. The Taliban hadn’t done something like this yet, but it was only because they didn’t have a bridge such as this on which to execute the people who defied their beliefs.

He said, “What is that? Are they criminals?”

Driving the vehicle, Drago laughed, then saw Shakor’s scowl. He hurriedly said, “No, no. They’re bungee jumping. They’re tourists.”

“What does that mean?”

“They attach what’s really a giant rubber band to their legs, and the tourists jump over the bridge, the harness slowing them before they hit the water. It’s a thrill thing.”

Shakor shook his head, unable to assimilate the stupidity of someone putting their own life at risk while only protected by a rubber band. But even given what Drago said, he wasn’t sure he believed him. After the Bosnia crossing, he knew he had to keep a close eye on his escort. Drago would do whatever it took to get away.

After forcing Drago out of the cellars in the old town of Split, they’d reached the road to the ferry terminal where Shakor’s car was parked, and Drago had made a scene, hoping to escape with the help of the tourists.

As soon as he’d seen Shakor’s men unlocking the doors to two rental cars, he knew he was done, and had taken off running, thinking nobody would shoot him in broad daylight. He’d shouted in Russian, Serbian, and English, begging for help, threading through the cars, hoping to make it to the security guard at the gate.

Shakor was on him in an instant, punching his kidney hard enough to cause him to collapse between the vehicles. Shakor stood up over his body, looked around, and saw some curious stares, but nobody came to investigate. He’d leaned over Drago and said, “You do something like that again, and I’ll bash your head in. Do you understand?”

Wheezing, Drago nodded.

They’d loaded up and traveled south to the next safehouse that Drago knew, on the outskirts of Dubrovnik. He’d told Shakor that it was a straight shot down the coast, and then they’d hit a queue of cars at a border crossing, causing Shakor enormous concern.

He’d said, “What is this?”

“It’s the Bosnian crossing. We have to pass it to get to Dubrovnik.”

“We have to pass through another country? And you knew this?”

Now afraid, seeing the anger, Drago had said, “Yes. Everyone knows this. Bosnia owns a spit of land that splits Croatia in two. It’s been that way for centuries.”

Shakor said, “Could we have taken a ferry and avoided it?”

Drago inched the car forward and nodded, the fear growing. Shakor said, “What’s it take to cross? We don’t have a visa for Bosnia.”

“Nothing, I promise. You’re supposed to have a visa, but everyone uses this road. They won’t ask.”

Shakor saw they were next in line, pulled out his pistol, and jammed it into Drago’s side, saying, “You do anything to cause us trouble, and you’ll be dead. Do you understand?”

Drago nodded again, and the next thing Shakor knew, they were through the crossing. Drago had been right, but Shakor was sure he’d had something else planned. Now on the outskirts of Dubrovnik, he wasn’t giving him any leverage.

They finished crossing the bridge and Drago took the first exit, looping around and heading toward the Adriatic Sea. Shakor felt his antennae rise again and said, “Where are we going? I thought it was in Dubrovnik?”

“Well, Dubrovnik is the closest city, so we say it’s there. It’s in Lapad, on the coast right here. Dubrovnik is like ten minutes away.”

Shakor gave him the death stare, and Drago said, “I’m not lying! This is the house.”

The road looped around under the bridge, passing by a marina, and then entered a peninsula, Drago saying, “This is Lapad.”

He started driving down narrow two-lane roads, the steep slope to the ocean on the left and the hills rising on the right. Eventually he pulled over into a small parking area with about ten slots for cars, most already taken. He found one and said, “We walk from here.”

“Walk?”

“The house is down the hill, on the coast. It doesn’t have a road. Branko was always adamant not to get a house where a car could drive up to the front door. He always wanted a way out.”

Shakor looked down the hill, seeing a staircase disappearing into the vegetation, the twinkling waters of the Adriatic off in the distance. He could just barely see the roof of a building.