Page 64 of The Bait

There was no point in arguing, Harry realised, because hell, maybe Asher was right. Maybe they did need him hell-bent on killing everyone. Harry would just need to be extra vigilant.

“Are you ready? Looks like the fun’s about to start without us.”

Harry sighed. “Fine. But if I think for one second this isn’t going to work, we leave. Codeword: coffee. We turn and walk, okay?”

“Fine.” He put his hand on the door handle. “No guns or knives. There might be metal detectors.”

Oh goodie. They were doing this unarmed. Asher did say he wanted to kick the hornet’s nest first and, well, this would do it.

Harry wasn’t sure exactly what Asher had in mind, and given Harry’s grasp on the Serbian language was more than a little rusty, he really could do no more thanstand beside Asher, to protect him or to pull his ass out of there, Harry wasn’t sure.

But stand beside him, he would.

The Serbian policeheadquarters in Belgrade looked like any other government building Harry had seen all over the western world. It was teeming with badges, yes. But for all intents and purposes, it was an administration building.

Though as reporters gathered around the steps outside, Harry spotted at least four armed officers. Two to the right, two to the left, and wait... two more that came out with the police official made that six.

Awesome.

Harry had no clue what official rank and title this official guy held. He wasn’t up to speed on Serbian police ranking insignias, but the stripes and stars on the shoulders of his jacket told him he was a major, at least.

And of course, everything he said was in Serbian.

Now, Harry could understand some passing words. He’d lived with Asher long enough to pick up a few Slavic words and phrases, though to be fair, Asher only normally slung them at Harry in a slew of mumbled curses.

What Harry did know was that this was a press conference regarding the shootout at ZBK headquarters outside of Sarajevo. Why did that concern Serbian police?

Because five of the dead guys were Serbian and the so-called drug-wars-between-gangs bullshit they were spinning for the media had the public concerned. Bosnian authorities were working in conjunction with the Serbians to find those responsible, blah blah blah.

It was all bullshit.

The police major finished talking, nodding to a female reporter to the right of Asher. She was holding a microphone with a TV channel number on it, and she asked her question. The police answered. Then another reporter asked another question, the cop gave his pre-determined response. Another reporter asked, another bullshit answer delivered with a smile.

Harry deduced the two cops beside the police official were ornamental, armed or not, more worried about looking good for the cameras and getting the right angle, nodding along to the bullshit their boss was spewing.

Two of the other armed cops had disappeared around the corner, and the other two police officers inside the door were having a private conversation, laughing, and paying zero attention to what was happening.

This press conference was purely a spectator sport, nothing else.

Harry was too busy getting mad at the entire debacle when Asher raised his hand and spoke.

Harry had not been expecting him to do that, and he did his best to appear as if it had been the plan all along. Not that he had a clue what Asher said, but from the way the major’s smile tightened and the way he stammered his reply, Harry could guess he didn’t appreciate it.

Then Asher glanced up at Harry before turning back to the front and then he spoke in English. “Can you confirm if the compound where Rozga was found had any ties to the new cold war support group known as ZBK? That Rozga was in fact the leader of a political faction with direct ties to Colonel Alen Radovic and Vadik Istomin? There are also rumours of them being tied to another ZBK compound at the abandoned airbase in Bukovac. Do youknow anything about this?” Asher took a deep breath. “I know for a fact that Radovic was involved with the Kowalska House Orphanage. The same group that trafficked children from Bosnia and Kosovo in the war and turned them into drug mules and murderers. I know because I was one.”

Harry slow-blinked, or maybe the world stopped turning for a moment. Asher had just kicked the hornets’ nest.

Everything and everyone fell silent as if holding their breath, faces and cameras turned to Asher, and then as a collective swarm, the reporters turned back to the police major. He was a mix of pale and livid, stammering and blinking as the sea of cameras, phones, clicks, and reporters all pushed closer.

He might have tried to speak over them, to ask for the name of the man who dared ask such questions, but Harry and Asher were already gone.

Harry was strungtight as he drove, his gaze darting to the rear-vision mirror. “Care to explain what the fuck that was about?”

Asher leaned over to the back and pulled the backpack onto his lap. “That was our backup.”

“Backup for what?”

“For what we’re about to do,” Asher said, as if he were mad at Harry for not catching on already.

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