Page 39 of One Minute Out

Captain Niko Vukovic ran the police force in Mostar, but that wasn’t where he made his money. He was paid by the Serbian mafia in Belgrade for a number of things, but his main income came from assisting with the flow of trafficked humans from the East, on their way to the West, the Middle East, and even Asia.

Vukovic didn’t know the scope of the operation in which he played a part. No, he was a big fish in a small pond, and his pond was Mostar. Here, as far as he was concerned, he was in command. Not that old general who’d run the way station until the night before last, but the police captain who had kept the pipeline open through the territory for the past several years.

After Babic’s obviously politically motivated assassination, Vukovic worried that those involved in the pipeline would hold him accountable, even though his job was not to provide physical security for the general but rather safe passage of the women on the roads to and from the way station, and police coordination if something went wrong. Still, the first thing he did when he heard about the attack on the farm was to assign himself four of his best officers to act as a security detail.

The four all took money from the Branjevo Partizans, the Belgrade mob, same as Vukovic. He figured they could be trusted to watch over him, both during his regular police work and when escorting him to a restaurant frequented by one of his Serbian mob contacts on the second floor of a small hotel on Stari Pazar Street.

The hotel was in the hilly Old Town at a cobblestoned intersection a block from the swiftly flowing Neretva River. It was luxurious by local standards, and the neat lobby was nearly empty. He walked up the stairs with his entourage to the restaurant and found it all but deserted, as well. It was late for lunch but early for dinner, his preferred meeting time with his contact.

He saw a heavyset silver-maned man alone in a back booth on his phone with a bottle of Serbian liquor in front of him.

Vukovic nodded. Always here by four. Just like clockwork.

The police chief entered with his four officers. He directed them to stay by the front door of the restaurant while he headed to the back.

“Zdravo, Filip.” Hello, Filip, Vukovic said as he sat down. “Haven’t heard from you. Time for a quick chat?”

The Serbian mobster gave him a half nod, then finished his call and poured Vukovic a drink.

They toasted without much emotion, then drank down their shots in silence.

Another round was poured and drunk, and then a third poured into the little glasses. But instead of picking it up and downing it, Vukovic said, “I’m sure your people in Belgrade have spoken to someone in the Consortium.”

Filip just nodded.

“What do they say?”

“What you’d expect. The Consortium is mad at us, mad at Babic, and mad at you.”

The police chief did expect this, but he also knew he had to push back against it. “You told them I didn’t have men providing security at the way station, didn’t you? That was not my role.”

“Yeah. I told them. Look, this will blow over, but they are moving the way station. It’s already closed.”

“Shit,” Vukovic said, but he wasn’t really surprised.

The man from Belgrade added, “The whores were taken to Dubrovnik. They are going to filter the next batch of product from Sarajevo to Banja Luka.”

“Banja Luka? That’s out of my territory.”

“What can I say? The Consortium makes those decisions.”

“What about me?”

The man with the silver hair shrugged. “What about you?” After a moment he said, “Look, we’ve got other jobs around here, we’re not cutting you off.”

“Are those other jobs going to pay as much as I was getting from the pipeline?”

The mob official shook his head. “You were getting Western money for that. Sorry, Niko, but that gold mine is shut down now. Be glad the Consortium didn’t tell us to terminate you.”

In a raised voice he said, “Terminate me? It wasn’t my fucking fault. They know that, right?”

Another shrug from Filip; he didn’t seem to care. Then he softened. “Look, Niko. You’ve been good for us here. Belgrade does not blame you for this; we aren’t going to hold it against you. But the Consortium, they demand everything run perfectly, all the time.”

“Your people aren’t going to come after me. But what about someone else?”

The Serbian mobster nodded to the four cops at the front of the restaurant. “Just keep those boys close for a few weeks. I’m sure things will settle down by then.”

Vukovic shut his eyes, squeezed his glass hard, and downed the rest of his drink. Banging the empty vessel back on the table, he said, “I have more to say. Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to take a piss.”

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