Page 86 of The Nameless Ones

There was silence, then: ‘Burggasse Twenty-Four. It’s a clothing store, but there is a café on the ground floor. It’s not the kind of place where we are likely to attract attention. I can be there in an hour.’

‘Thank you,’ said Radovan, before adding, ‘I’m trusting you.’

‘That you should mention it indicates doubt. Given your situation, though, I’m inclined to forgive it. But Radovan?’

‘Yes?’

‘If we are seen together, and questions are asked, I will have to act. You understand?’

‘I do.’

‘One hour. Don’t be late.’

In the event, Radovan arrived early at the meeting place. Burggasse 24 was a two-story vintage emporium in the 7th District, with a casual café at the back that extended across two rooms. The clientele was young and chic, and made Radovan feel like the interloper that he was. He took a seat in the main section, from which he could see the street and the open area to the left around Sankt-Ulrichs-Platz. Somewhere out there, he knew, Teodora Ciric would be watching. He might have been early, but she would have been earlier still.

Radovan ordered a slice of tart with his coffee, and tried to keep his breathing calm as he stirred in the sugar. One call: that was all it would take for Ciric to summon a pair of vehicles, probably a van and an escort car, and pull him from the street. An interrogation would follow, and, in all probability, a handover to the Austrian police prior to his extradition to the Netherlands, a sacrificial offering on the altar of prospective EU membership. Then again, his compatriots might decide to deal with him themselves. It depended on how much influence Matija Kiš had already accrued and how badly Simo Stajic wanted to make an example of the Vuksans. It was only six hours by road from Vienna to Belgrade, plenty of time for Stajic to prepare a basement and gather his tools. Radovan’s only consolation was that he had managed to enter Burggasse 24 unimpeded. It would have been easiest for Ciric to seize him before he got to the meeting place.

And now here was the woman herself, a few more lines to her face, her hair entirely gray, although the color suggested that she had decided to finish for herself what nature had started. It would be typical of the Teodora he remembered, a woman disinclined to do things by half measures. Were she to have received a terminal diagnosis from a physician, she would have poured herself a glass of Prokupac before eating her gun.

Radovan stood to greet her, and they hugged awkwardly while exchanging a single, fleeting kiss on the cheek. Her perfume smelled expensive and her coat looked like it might have come from one of the more exclusive racks in Burggasse 24 itself, or be destined for them once it had ceased to delight her. She ordered mint tea and sat with her back to the wall.

‘You’ve grown old,’ she said, although she was older than he by almost a decade.

‘It has a certain inevitability.’

‘Isn’t it supposed to be accompanied by wisdom?’

‘Only in the most fortunate,’ said Radovan. ‘I find that resignation is often mistaken for it.’

‘Yet you appear to be neither wise – because you’re still laboring in the shadow of your brother – nor resigned, or else you would not be here.’

‘I’m hoping to find a third path.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘To survive, and let others survive also.’

Her tea arrived. He pushed the plate of tart in her direction, inviting her to share it. She declined.

‘Diabetes,’ she said. ‘I seem to be the first in my family to have developed it. I blame my exposure to the excesses of the new Europe.’

‘Such invisible ailments aside,’ said Radovan, ‘the new Europe appears to be agreeing with you. You look well.’

And she did, even as he remembered a younger Teo, and an on-off love affair that had spanned nearly fifteen years behind her first husband’s back before she traded him in for a richer, more handsome replacement, and before the Vuksan name became a byword for criminal excess. Her vrana, Teo had called Radovan, her crow, because he was so dark and clever. She had trained under Radovan’s father, who regarded her as his most gifted protegée. Now she was one of the hidden Udbasi, with a title and position that gave her access to secrets and license to roam.

She permitted him a smile, like the flash of an old camera briefly capturing a moment from the past.

‘It’s kind of you to say.’

‘How is your husband?’

‘Thriving. He likes Vienna, although he complains about the prices.’

‘Give him my regards.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Ciric. ‘What is it you want me to do for you, Radovan?’

‘I need to know if there is a way out of this.’

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