Page 23 of The Nameless Ones

‘You’re quiet, cale,’ he said, using the Serbian term of affection meaning ‘papa’. During his time in uniform, Spiridon had liked to believe that his men viewed him as a father figure. No one had ever worked up the courage to disabuse him of this notion.

It was Radovan who answered.

‘My brother does not like skulking,’ he said. ‘It is against his nature. He believes we should return with our flag raised, like Peter the Liberator.’

‘The longer we hide,’ said Spiridon, ‘the weaker we appear.’

‘The longer we hide,’ said Radovan, ‘the longer we live.’

Spiridon drained the brandy.

‘My brother is an old woman,’ he said to Dražeta, ‘and the only battles he fights are with his purse. I’m going to bed.’

Radovan and Dražeta waited until he was gone before resuming. For Radovan, Spiridon’s words stung less here than they might have done in other company. Dražeta had only ever killed unarmed men and women, and his greatest physical exertion had involved consigning to the Danube the naked bodies of the dead.

‘They may come looking for you,’ said Dražeta. ‘It would be better if I had an answer to give if they do.’

‘Tell them we were speaking of Romania, but were not specific. I’ll make some calls to see if bread can be scattered on those waters.’

Dražeta raised the bottle. Radovan shook his head.

‘Can this situation be salvaged?’ said Dražeta.

‘I don’t know. Spiridon is an obstinate man.’

‘And you are a clever one. You’ll find a way.’

‘Yes,’ said Radovan, and his gaze lay elsewhere. ‘I expect I shall.’

Willa pretended to be asleep when her husband at last came to bed. The Vuksans had been given the guest room, while their men were on couches and chairs in the lounge. She waited until her husband started snoring before she got out of bed and removed from beneath it a Tupperware box. It contained a little cold venison with some red onion marmalade, a hunk of bread, and, in a separate compartment, a piece of strudel. She put on her robe and went downstairs. Avoiding the lounge, she used the side door to leave the house and approached the cars in which the men had arrived. All were empty.

Willa paused. Perhaps, she thought, she had been mistaken, until she noticed a small figure moving by a hedgerow, watching. And although she could not have said why, she crossed herself and wished only to be back in the safety of her home.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘I brought you something to eat.’

She placed the box on the hood of the nearest car and went back inside. She locked the door behind her before checking the rest of the exterior doors. One of the men, the one called Markovic, emerged from the lounge as she was finishing in the kitchen. He had a gun in his hand.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘I thought it would be better if we locked the doors,’ said Willa. ‘Just in case.’

‘It’s three o’clock in the morning.’

‘All the more reason for it.’

Markovic looked at her oddly before returning to the lounge. Willa went back to bed and eventually fell asleep. She was woken by the sound of the men leaving. It was still dark. Her husband was no longer beside her, but she had not heard him get up.

Willa went to the window, pulled aside the drape, and watched the three cars drive away. She counted six shapes: the five men who had slept in her home that night, and the other.

Later, outside the kitchen door, she found the Tupperware box. The food was gone, and the box had been washed, but it was not empty. Inside was a single small coin with a hole at one edge, as though it had been removed from an earring or a necklace. The coin was so old that it had been rubbed almost smooth, but she could just discern the outline of a face upon it. Willa placed the coin in a jar by the door and hoped it would bring good fortune to their home. But she washed her hands after touching it, and laid her fingers against the cross on the wall while praying that none of the six would ever return to Kassel.

Chapter XXIII

The next day, while Angel and Louis waited for Alex, their regular driver, to take them to JFK, a call came through from Louis’s money guy. His name, rather aptly, was Golden, and he was responsible for ensuring that Louis’s bank accounts, whether domestic or offshore, attracted as little federal attention as possible. Golden’s store of small talk didn’t require more than a single intake of breath to fuel it, but he was very good at his job.

‘Do you have a moment?’ Golden asked.

‘For you, always,’ said Louis. ‘And I was about to call you about moving some funds. I have travel plans.’

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