# The Dubrovnik Massacre444444444

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when I heard my makeshift shovel scrape metal.

Five minutes later the metal box containing the pa-

rx•rs was sitting on the ground beside the tomb.

The tomb had been a smart idea. It protected the

box and papers as if they had been in a dry cave.

The box was padlocked, so I smashed it open

with a rock. Katrina pulled out the oil-paper pack-

ages. I pulled out a similar-looking package and

pulled at the wrapper. Out poured thousands of

Deutsche marks from the World War II period. I

watched Katrina go through the papers.

"This is it," she said. "What we hoped for, but

there's so much material here. It's the reports of

the controlled ones' activity. I don't see names. . . .

Ah, yes, okay. This man is now head of the air

force. " She was excited.

€ 'You know," I said, "the most secure thing

would be to photograph the material and rebury it.

That way they would never know you had it until

it was published."

"No. I want the real documents. It will help us.

But do photograph them."

"Select the most important papers. I've only got

two-hundred-and-forty shots and you've got what

looks like five or six hundred pages."

I spent the next hour photographing the pages

she handed me. I was sure we had gotten every-

thing we needed.

"There were eight of them to begin with," she

said. "I don't know whether to be surprised at how

many there were or how few. One died during the

war. Another is the man who confessed to the Fox.

A third is Deijer. He is the head of one of the re-

publics. They rotate; for short periods he will head

the country. He is the only one we knew about. A

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fourth man, Tokaravic—l don't know who he is.

Maybe he is dead. Anyway, he never amounted to

much."

"He might be in OZNA, so his name wouldn't

be known," I interrupted.

She nodded distractedly. "There is Duplja, head

of the air forée;SBlatopek, the second secretary of

the party; Sulzavic, an ex-ambassador to the U.S.

That must have been handy for them. He is the

number three man in the foreign office now. And

last but not least is Iz Rapavic, head of OZNA."

She looked at me meaningfully. *Ihe last revelation

had particularly upset her.

"You knew it was going to be bad news, so there

it is," I said. "Each man will have had time to plant

dozens of agents within his respective organization.

How long has Rapavic been the head of OZNA?"

"Why, he is head now," she said.

"It makes all the difference in the world. Until

he got very high up, it would have been hard to

penetrate an intelligence organization, even if he

got a man inside. Then it becomes easy. Your

father will understand these things. But as a prac-

tical matter, every day that he has been in charge

lessens your chances of success."

"I understand what you're saying; I'm not stu-

pid. He became head of OZNA some time last

year."

"Probably a lot of OZNA is still loyal to the

Fox. He can count on only certain sections of the

organization in his fight with you."

She regarded me curiously. But I could see I was

becoming more and more useful in her eyes and

not just brawn. When we finished photographing

the papers I tossed the empty box in the tomb and

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slid the lid back on. It wouldn't fool anybody, but

it was worth a try.

"We should move out first thing in the morning

—not even have breakfast," I said.

"Yes, I agree with you. I'll wrap the papers and

put them into my pack. You'll have to carry some

of my things and we have to decide what to leave

here.

It took us about an hour to work out the details.

When that was done, I called Grusha over. She had

really grown to trust me. I got out my backpacking

scissors and trimmed the hair under each of her

forelegs.

"What are you doing?" Katrina asked. I took

out special adhesive patches. "I'm taping the film

cannisters under her legs. It won't hurt her. I've put

these same patches on my own legs."

"Let me see," she said, leaning over. "You let

me bring Grusha just for this, didn't you? If we

were searched or lost the pack, we'd still have film

of the documents."

"There were a number of considerations."

1

looked at her. "l like the dog, you know that, but

you didn't ask me if you could bring her for sen-

timental reasons. You asked if it was in the interest

of our mission."

"You're a cold one, Jesse James."

"Maybe, but it's your country at stake. Come,

Grusha," I said, "let's go for a walk." Wagging her

tail, she was only too happy to go off for a walk

with me. The western sky was a deep purple stripe,

but the rest of the sky was darkening except where

a bright yellow full moon shone. I watched the dog,

but there was none of the nervousness she had

evinced earlier. The wind, which had been coming

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from the east, had shifted to the west and was now

rushing uphill in gusts.

I wasn't sure what kind of reception I'd get when

I returned to camp, but I noticed the sleeping bags

had been zipped together. I stripped. Katrina was

naked in the sleeping bag.

"You feel '*aTm," I said.

"And you are so cold," she returned. We snug-

gled close to let the heat of our bodies warm us.

The warmth turned into •a fire that consumed us

both. We came together fervently, our bodies melt-

ing into one another. Neither of us uttered a sound

until we reached the peak of our excitement, and

even then all that could be heard were sighs of con-

tent. Our fire turned slowly to embers as we fell

into a heavy sleep.


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CHAPTER XV

I awakened from a deep sleep to Grusha's whin-

ing. It was a clear night; the stars shone brilliantly.

The moon hovered low in the west like a dying

spotlight. I could smell the fir trees in the cold,

moist air and hear the stream bubbling a hundred

yards away. It was hard to believe that anything

could be wrong at this moment. I called Grusha

over, put my fingers near the infected claw marks,

and pressed the cannisters to see if they were rub-

bing her. I got no response, and this worried me.

Grusha continued whining. My senses are extreme-

ly sharp, but still I heard nothing. I reached for

Wilhelmina and then sent my other hand searching

for the heavy flashlight just as I heard a twig snap.

I knelt in firing position, Wilhelmina in my right

hand, the flashlight in my left. I stared into the

darkness. Grusha was growing more agitated. I

reached over and shook Katrina lightly and

pressed the back of my left hand to her mouth.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Shh. Get your gun," I whispered back. She

looked around quickly and crawled over to her

pack. She looked beautiful, naked, in the moon-

light. She came up next to me, gun in hand.

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"Dress quietly." I listened and thought I heard

another twig snap. She came back wearing her

jeans. I reached down and slipped on my shirt.

Grusha lifted her head higher, sniffing the wind. I

stood absolutely still,

listening, but now I heard

nothing. Grisha was growing more nervous.

"Hurry!" I whispered.

I gestured toward the tomb and reached for my

pants. Grusha started to growl low and menac-

ingly. Katrina hadn't moved. I gestured again, then

slipped on my shoes. She started walking; every

step betrayed our hiding place. I reached back and

took her by the arm.

"Move quietly. Get your pack and get behind

the tomb." She looked worried. Still keeping my

eyes in front of me, I edged over to my pack. I

reached in hurriedly and fumbled around for my

extra clips and ammunition, my passport and mon-

ey. I threw the camera and case as far as I could.

Grusha's growling grew louder. I knelt and cov-

ered Katrina. I heard distinctive sounds now; they

were quick and light. I started moving back myself.

I don't know what I expected—wolves? Katrina

had mentioned them. It sounded like a pack com-

ing toward us. Grusha was crouched low and

began barking loudly.

I could see shadows rushing us, darker than the

night around them. They loomed larger and larger,

dark as death, all teeth, all speed. I switched on the

flash. Dobermans! I aimed for the lead dog and

fired. I felt Wilhelmina's solid push against my

hand. It reassured me, but I have never faced more

difficult targets in my life. The dog did not drop on

the first shot, so I fired again. Its howl splintered

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the night; blood spurted everywhere.

There were four more. I couldn't get them all,

but I stayed steady and chose my target. Just then

Grusha charged past me and grabbed one by the

throat. The point dog was sprinting for me, not

barking, not whining, just running—silent death.

Wilhelmina's third shot blew the dog's head away.

I blasted the third dog out of the air as it leaped for

me at point-blank range. The teeth of the fifth dog

clapped around my gun hand.

Wilhelmina dropped. I could feel pain and

warm, sticky stuff over my hand. I brought the

heavy flash down again and again on the savage

dog's skull, until it cracked open like a walnut.

niere was more sticky stuff flowing in the dog's

final spasm. I pried my hand loose. Grusha was

losing her battle; her infection was tapping her

strength. I picked up Wilhelmina, shined the

flashlight on the writhing, twisting dogs, and

moved closer to get a better aim. I picked my shot

as carefully as I could, barely three feet away, and

squeezed the trigger. The doberman flipped into

the air. Grusha ripped away at the throat of the

fallen dog. I could hear Katrina firing rapidly. I

wondered what she was firing at. Suddenly I was

on the receiving end of a burst of light. The ground

around me exploded with automatic rifle fire. I

pulled Grusha off the fallen doberman and

dragged her back. The ground was churning with

destruction, and pieces of dirt and rock splattered

all over me.

I sprinted across the campsite and jumped, land-

ing on my stomach behind the tomb. Katrina's lit.

tle automatic spoke again and again. There was an-

other burst of automatic rifle fire from the un-

known enemy. The tomb sounded like an un-

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wholesomely plucked piano as the bullets squashed

and richocheted off of it.

"My gun is empty," Katrina said. Her eyes

flickered questioningly.

"We'll make it,"

I said. I reached up and let

Wilhelmina roar at the moving shadows and

flickering liihts. Automatic fire shredded the

ground in front of the tomb. But this time I saw the

rifleman. Wilhelmina sent him a couple of kisses.

When I heard him grunt I put a slug into the

ground where I thought he'd fallen. I didn't want

to take any more chances with automatic rifle fire.

But just then a second automatic opened. I shot it

out with him one on one.

I kept low as I took my aim at the second

rifleman. I let my shot go and it reached home; I

heard the dull thud as the second man went down.

I slipped to the ground to put a new clip in the

overheated luger. Katrina emptied her gun. It

seemed to me that only a couple were still returning

fire.

"More are coming," she said. "I can see their

flashlights all over the mountain." I saw a dozen

fragile beams cutting through the darkness.

"It's useless. Move back toward the cliff," I said.

"There is a path down on the left. I'll cover you.

And take the light."

"Grusha," she called out. Grusha padded over

and Katrina took the blood-soaked dog in her

arms. I shined the light into the field looking for

any wounded. I didn't want to get shot in the back

as we pulled out. But not one man was alive.

I saw Katrina running with the pack slung over

her shoulder and Grusha at her heels. Then I heard

the sound I least wanted to hear: barking. I heard

men shouting back and forth. I moved back

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through the field of tombs, catching fire from a sin-

gle shooter. I cleared the tombs and ran straight for

the trees. The forest was pitch black. I could hear

the barking of the dobermans getting closer.

"Nick, Nick," I heard suddenly. It was Katrina.

'"Run," I said. "As fast as you can."

In a few minutes we emerged on the lip of the

cliff. If there hadn't been moonlight, we would

have gone over the edge. We had the flashlight off

so they wouldn't see us. We circled to the left. I

couldn't find the trail, and it sounded as if our

pursuers were still getting closer. "Turn on the

flashlight for a second," I said.

"There's the trail," she said.

I gave poor, confused Grusha a shove down it. I

could hear Katrina thrashing her way down the

path ahead of me. Then there was a strange mo-

ment of stillness before I heard the dogs and men

again. I slipped a fresh clip into Wilhelmina and

waited while Katrina went ahead. The seconds

seemed like hours. Then I heard scraping feet.

Lean, black shadows leaped from the woods. There

were five dogs this time. But the tyo leaders were

unable to stop in time and bounded right over the

cliff. I blasted the next dog broadside.

The last two charged, all teeth and muscle, and I

opened up. Concussions and the stench of powder

filled my head. Hugo flicked into my left hand. The

first dog fell but the last leaped for my throat. I was

knocked off my feet and my shot went wild. I pro-

tected my throat with Wilhelmina. Only one of us

was going to get up, I knew. nere was a second

when I thought I had come to the end of my jour-

ney, but Hugo hit home, deeply. I twisted hard. I

pushed the still-kicking corpse aside and stood up,

but there was no respite. Men had arrived, and I

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heard another pack of dogs in the distance. My bul-

lets scattered among the trees and the emerging

men. One man screamed, then another. Suddenly I

was drawing a great deal of fire. There was only

one automatic rifleman; I was lucky. He died when

he stepped out of the trees. I had excellent cover

among the boulders, and if my luck held out, it was

going to cost them dearly to take those rocks.

I emptied Wilhelmina and dropped down to put

in a new clip. I had bagged only one more. My

shots splintered more wood than men. They were

being more careful, taking more precise shots at

me. I knew my tide was going out. It was time to

move on. I kept down until I was sure they had left

the trees and were moving up on my position. Then

I popped up. I got three with the first three shots.

They scuttled for cover. I nailed one in the back of

the shoulder. They'd take these rocks on their

bellies or wait for reinforcements before they tried

again. nen I turned and ran. Every second would

count now as I tore down the mountainside half

blind. I went crashing through branches in the

thickening woods, jumping over rocks.

When I thought I'd gotten far enough ahead of

them I yelled Katrina's name, but I got no re-

sponse. I yelled again. Finally I heard her voice, far

off, but I could see nothing.

"Nick, Nick," came the voice again. I tried to

pick up speed; it was a mistake. My foot caught a

root and I was thrown forward, stretched by my

own momentum like a string. I gasped for breath.

It was a minute or two before I could move in spite

of the inconsequential nature of the injury. Then I

searched among the rough roots for Wilhelmina.

When I found her I raced off, having lost precious

time. I could hear the dogs barking, and when I


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looked back I could see flickering lights in the dis-

tance.

"Here!" came a loud whisper.

"Katrina. "

"Here!" it came again. I caught her in my arms.

It felt good to touch solid flesh again.

The night was filled with ghost-black trees and

death, and the dogs were getting closer. We ran

through the woods, but the dogs were almost on us

by the time we reached the next clearing. I turned

and opened fire. I caught one of the black shadows

sideways. The other four bounded for us growling.

Wilhelmina barked and blew a dog's shoulder

away. But now even as I stood firing I knew I had

no chance. I could get one more, but the other two

would be upon me before I could shoot them.

Again Grusha sprang out from behind me and

bounded for the lead doberman. The second raced

past me and leaped at Katrina, who fired at it. I

shot the third between the eyes as it leaped for me.

I twisted and ran to Katrina. I don't think I've ever

moved faster. I jumped on the dog as it pushed in

for Katrina's throat and smashed it to the ground

with my own weight. Then I ripped and slashed

with Hugo until it drowned in its own blood. I saw

the doberman rip poor Grusha open as if it had a

knife instead of teeth. I grabbed the doberman by

its collar and swung it round and round into a tree

until its spine snapped. I went over to Katrina, who

was kneeling by the wounded Grusha., A short

burst of light from Katrina's flashlight told me the

dog had been fatally wounded.

"Get away," I said to Katrina. "Get back." I

had to put Grusha out of her misery. I plunged

Hugo into her heart and cut away the cannisters

from her legs.


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And again we were running. Katrina stopped

and turned back toward the fallen dog. I took her

by the shoulder and pushed her forward. We ran

down an incline to a small stream. Soon we were

splashing along in the cold water, tripping and

bumping into rocks and logs. The cold stream

seemed to run colder and colder as we ran. We saw

lights and heard more dogs, but it was over. We

had escaped, at least for the moment.

"I'm freezing," said Katrina. "I can't feel my

feet anymore."

"We won't have to stick to the stream much

longer," I said. I looked up and through the trees

and saw the first faint signs of dawn. I had a crucial

decision to make—move west or to the north. I

chose north, but didn't tell Katrina. Within an

hour and a half we had reached the thermal

springs.

"I don't understand," she said when she realized

where we were.

"We wouldn't have made it the other way.

They'll keep west. This is the logical way for us to

go. We need a chance to rest and figure out what to

do."

"Nick, I'm so cold and tired." We were both

shaking with the cold by the time we spread out

our clothes to dry and immersed ourselves in the

steaming pools. We lay in the water a long time

without speaking. I kept my shoulder out of the

water most of the time. I had gotten a bad bite. But

from time to time I immersed it so it would bleed

clean as the hot water opened the wounds.

We found a patch of warm, filtered sunlight and

stretched out on the smooth, warm rocks and slept.

Two hours later we were back in the pool.


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"l lost the pack, I don't even know where,"

Katrina said. "You were right to photograph the

documents." She looked at me. "You do have

them, don't you?"

I nodded. "They might even be our luck—the

photographs, that is. They may believe they re-

covered all the documents and give up the chase. I

threw the camera as far as I could when the shoot-

ing started. "

"We have lost everything."

"We have the film and our guns, which is all

we'll need." That's what I said, but wasn't as sure

as I sounded. "What are our plans from here?" I

asked.

She said we were to head east, where a car was to

be left for us at the end of a dirt road. But that

meant going back toward where we had been at-

tacked.

"l have an uncle who lives south and west of

here about sixty miles," she said. "He is a lifelong

party member, but to Montenegrans like us, blood

is thicker than water—I hope. I think we should go

there. It will take us two days to hike to the nearest

road."

"Do you have ammunition?" I asked.

"A little. I have one candy bar and money, but I

lost my passport. The matches are wet and my

clothes are practically in shreds." She laughed a lit-

tle.

"They look fine to me," I said. "I have my mon-

ey, gun, both passports, and my matches in a wa-

terproof container, but we can't set any fires any-

way. And I have a small bag of peanuts. Why don't

we have dinner?"

"Shouldn't we save them?"


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"We're going to get hungry, whatever we do. It's

better not to have false hopes. You can't get un-

hungry on what we have, anyway."

"Maybe we can shoot animals," she offered.

"That's for storybooks. We can't fire the guns.

The energy you expend isn't worth the trouble un-

less you get lucky. We'll fast. It won't hurt us."

"We won't starve?"

"No. Not in two days. We'll just have to be care-

ful. And you might get a little skinny." I gave her

a big smile. I was surprised when she smiled back.

But her smile quickly turned to a frown.

"Someone betrayed us. "

"Here, have some peanuts," I said.

"We were betrayed."

"Maybe, maybe not. Don't jump to conclusions.

It could have been an accident. A code could have

been broken or someone had luck. Sometimes you

never find out. Did Ivo know where we were

"He would never betray us."

"Torture, drugs. can break anyone. Here,"

I said, "have some more nuts."

"I don't want peanuts."

"Yes, you do. I can tell. You're hungry."

"You must be hungry, too." I splashed across

and poured the last of the Franuts out of the bag

and into her mouth.

thought you wanted me to be skinny."

"You'll be skinny," I said.

"Do I look too terrible?"

"You couldn't go to a debutante ball in that out-

fit." She did look a mess, bruised and cut. She also

looked beautiful. I slid between her outstretched

legs and we made love.


CHAPTER xvi

I lay in the warm sun feeling as if I were a part of

the rock I was lying on. I knew it was time to go,

because the air was beginning to cool. But when I

got to my feet, I felt like I had been hit with a thou-

sand hangovers. I began to regret breathing, much

less moving. There was nothing to do but walk

over and stand under the icy waterfall. Katrina

came over and joined me.

' 'Do you feel temble?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. "I'm human."

"Let's stay the night."

"No, we've got to go: We have to cross the

mountain range tonight when it's dark."

She didn't say anything, but after she had dried

off she went over and put on her clothes. Women

dressing have always seemed magical to me. I

checked Wilhelmina and my extra clips. I had

twenty-five slugs left. That was not good news, but

I expected worse. Katrina approached me, hands

on hips.

"I want the cannisters," she said. "They're my

responsibility. " I paused a second but handed them

over to her. She gave one back to me. "In case

something happens to me . . . Okay. I'm ready,"

she said. She was a real trooper. We headed down

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the hill. After a while I began feeling better, but I

knew we would soon begin climbing again. First

we had to cross the same valley we had been chased

down the night before. I expected this to be the

most dangerous part of the day's trip. But when we

reached the wlley it had a fairy-tale peacefulness to

it.

I studied the thick woods carefully but saw no

sign of the violent struggle that had taken place the

night before. Soon we reached the cliff. It was more

formidable than I had expected, but in a way that

was good. It would seem a less likely route to take.

"Do exactly what I do," I told Katrina. "Put

your feet exactly where I put mine. This is no time

to be creative. "

"I think of Grusha," she said, gesturing to the

valley where Grusha had died.

"These things happen," I said. I looked up at the

cliff. "One thing, Katrina. Don't look down."

We climbed the cliff in silence. I was struck by

how tired I got. I was already hungry. Although my

efficiency would drop because of the lack of food,

once my body adjusted to using stored energy

the decline would stop, at least for a couple of

days. I caught a glimpse of the mountains we

would have to climb before we headed downhill. I

hoped they weren't as bad as they looked.

We made fair time the next two hours. It was

dusk when we threw ourselves in a thick bunch of

bushes to rest. I set the alarm on my watch for ten

o'clock that night and was asleep almost the in-

stant I closed my eyes. When the alarm went off, it

was dark but the moon and starlight provided

enough light to see the mountain range. I woke

Katrina.


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"Oh, Nick, I feel as if I was drugged."

"Come on," I said. "We have a mountain to

climb."

"I can't do it. Let's wait until tomorrow." I

pulled her to her feet.

"You'll only feel worse tomorrow. You can have

a nice long nap when we get to the other side."

"I am so very tired, Nick." But that was the end

of the protests. Soon she was walking along behind

me at a steady pace. I suspected it would be an

easier climb than the one we had made earlier in

the day, but much longer.

We felt our way up the mountainside. The moon

cast strange shadows through the tall trees and

everything was distorted. It was hard to tell a shad-

ow of a branch from a real one. We didn't dare use

our flashlight. When the moon slipped behind an

occasional cloud there was nothing to do but wait

for it to return. The night grew eerie. We heard

strange noises, animals moving in the brush or call-

ing to one another. We were very tired; it was all

we could do to put one foot in front of the other.

We struggled up, higher and higher. The forest

thinned and shortened, finally becoming nothing

more than stunted shrubs, a moonlit version of the

now-familiar pattern.

A few minutes later we climbed out into a barren

world of moonlit rock. I felt oddly elated as we

made our way over the pass through the empty,

haunted landscape. Once I thought I saw the glow

of cigarettes, later a cough and the sound of metal

rubbing. But as we climbed over the pass and then

down into the valley the basic silence seemed to

deepen awesomely. I was so tired I scarcely cared

what happened. My mind became a little confused


159

from the night and the strain. I began to miss hav-

ing Grusha with us. In my confusion I imagined

her still padding along with us like a friendly ghost.

When we reached the first of the large trees we

pushed our way into a thick clump of bushes for

protection 4varmth and collapsed arm in arm.

We fell asleep instantly. I was so exhausted I forgot

to set my watch alarm, but my internal clock woke

me at exactly nine o'clock the next morning. I was

hungry and still tired but pleased with our

progress, even though I knew we'd have to make a

similar trek that day.

All morning we hiked through the thickly for-

ested valley without speaking. We were very hun-

gry. My mind wandered but always came back to

the message my stomach was sending.

"Nick, I'm so very hungry." Kartrina finally

said.

"We'll make it out of here today, Katrina.

You'll sit down to a big dinner tonight." I sounded

sure, but I knew we had another mountain we had

to climb. When we reached the base it was only

noon. Katrina and I decided to go ahead and climb

it and not wait for dark.

When we had been climbing an hour, I angled

over away from the lowest pass onto a higher,

steeper route. I figured we were less likely to find it

occupied by our friends from CRML and OZNA.

Minutes later we had climbed to the edge of the

forest. I slipped out and lay among the stunted

trees and rocks studying the pass but saw no sign of

the enemy.

When I went back into the forest I found

Katrina asleep. I watched her for a minute and

noted the peaceful expression on her face. I hated


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to wake her, but we had to move on. Soon we

were gingerly threading our way through a boulder

field. I kept a sharp eye out for trouble and even

dusted our clothes with dirt to make us less visible

from a distance. Finally we stood a hundred yards

below the bare, rocky pass. There were high,

jagged cliffs on either side and no real cover below

in the pass we'd have to walk through. I didn't like

the look of the place, but we didn't have another

choice. We groped our way up the rocky talus

slope to the path between the two pinnacles. I mo-

tioned to Katrina when we reached the top and

pulled out Wilhelmina. She pulled out her pistol,

too, but I still saw no sign of our friends.

We edged along, hugging the left-hand cliff

about twenty feet apart. I searched above us each

time before we moved. We walked cautiously but

quickly because there was little cover. After about

a hundred yards we reached the other side, where

the pass opened out. We could continue to hug the

left cliff, but I wasn't sure we could get down with-

out a rope, because the path appeared to end

abruptly at the edge of the precipice. To our right

the trail edged around a large, rounded talus slope.

The valley stretched out far below us. There were a

few steamer-trunk-size boulders but otherwise no

cover for about two hundred yards. Then the trail

dropped off, following a steep, rocky stream into

the woods below.

I searched the cliff above and saw no one. I

jogged out along the trail about a hundred feet and

looked back up at the cliff. Nothing. I waved to

Katrina to follow. We had gone another thirty feet

when someone opened up on us. I dived for some

rocks and looked around. Katrina was beside me.


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"Damn! I was so careful," I said.

"Don't blame yourself."

161

"Damn!" I stuck my head up for a look and felt

a bullet whistle by. A single sniper with a high-

powered rifle was on the opposite cliff. They hadn't

thought we'd try to cross here, so they'd stationed

only one sentry. We were safe as long as we didn't

move. Sooner or later, though, he'd be joined by

his friends. We weren't that far from the safety of

where the trail dropped, yet neither of us had a

chance of making it across that small distance

alive.

The son-of-a-bitch was clever. He'd let us move

far enough so that we were out of effective pistol

range but still well within that of his rifle. I reached

up with Wilhelmina and took a couple of careful

shots at him to test out the obvious. I raised little

dust holes in the cliff, but that was it. Next he

•edged out to a more exposed position and blew

holes in the ground around us.

Katrina fired a couple of shots his way, but her

little automatic had about half the effective range

of Wilhelmina.

"Now what?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. I lay in the dust trying to

think, while the sniFEr tried getting us with ric-

ochets. I decided he wasn't a good shot, otherwise

we'd have been dead already. That's when I re-

membered Waldo. Now, if I followed orders strict-

ly I'd wait until I was sure there was no hope, hold

Waldo up to my face, and erase permanently all

evidence that I had been in Yugoslavia. I had no

intention of using Waldo on myself. I had other

plans. I reached down and unzipped my pants.

Katrina looked at me in disbelief.


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NICK CARTER

"Waldo," I said in answer to her look of out-

rage.

"Oh," she breathed in obvious relief. I showed

her the little corrugated bomb.

"Can you throw it that far?" she asked.

"Probably not." I was looking around for some-

thing to make a sling with. You can heave a rock

three or four times as far as you can throw it and as

many times as hard with a sling. I undid my shoe-

laces. I was looking around and saw what I needed.

I told Katrina to take off her pants and give me her

panties. She turned a light shade of red but knew I

wasn't fooling around. Quietly she did as I asked.

I looked around for a rock as close to Waldo's size

and shape as possible. I would use Katrina's pant-

ies to nestle Waldo in.

I worked hurriedly to finish the sling. I handed

Katrina Wilhelmina. "You're going to draw his

fire. But don't stay in one place long. Shoot so you

look convincing. Don't take time to aim." I gave

her a stern look. I wanted her to be very serious.

This whole business was going to be tricky.

"Okay," I said. She looked serious. I gave her a

sign and spiraled up to my feet, whirling the stone

over my head. He pumped a couple of shots her

way before he realized I was a better target. By

then I was diving for the ground. Still, it was close;

rocks were splintering all over the ground when I

landed. I scurried for better cover and popped my

head up to look at my throw. I had missed the cliff.

That meant I would have to try again.

' 'He almost shot me," Katrina said. There was

blood on her cheek. I reached over and touched it.

"Just a piece of rock," I said. "We're going to

have to do it again. Do you think you can handle


THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

163

"Yes," she said. "But please be careful. You

nearly got hit before."

We shifted positions and tried it again. I spiraled

to my right and up. Katrina was up and shooting,

and I was swinging my sling. I took more time this

try, even t}iongh I left myself wide open for him.

This release felt right. I dropped backwards to

the ground. He pumped his shots in front of me,

and I slipped around to watch my second practice

shot. It dropped on the cliff about ten feet below

him. If that had been the real McCoy, he'd have

been dead. I looked at Waldo. The only thing that

worried me was how long Waldo's fuse was set for.

Not long, I guessed, figuring what Waldo was de-

signed for. I smiled to myself. Our friend was in for

the surprise of his life.

"Listen, Katrina. Same kind of thing as before.

Only, when you hear the explosion, run for it.

Don't look back. Nothing that might happen here

will make any difference."

"I'm going to take a couple of shots before I

start moving," Katrina said. I watched her care-

fully; the timing had to be right. She slid across the

ground quickly and came up on the other side of

the rock from which she had been shooting before

and began pumping Wilhelmina's bullets at him. I

spiraled up and whipped the sling round and round

my head. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Katrina

grab her chest and flop to the ground, writhing like

a hooked worm. I swore I'd throw Waldo down the

son-of-a-bitch's throat. I took a couple of more

wind-ups, let Waldo go, and dropped to the

ground. I looked over at Katrina.

She gave me a wink and said, "Pretty good ac-

tressing, no?"

"Get ready to run," I said. There was a deep

CK CARTER


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NICK CARTER

concussion. I looked up at the cliff. A big piece was

missing. Waldo must have dropped right in his lap.

We rounded the mountain and then climbed a

hundred yards down a boulder-strewn stream be-

fore stopping. She grabbed me and gave me a big

hug.

"You're some fighter, Jesse James." She kissed

me again. I thought we weren't going to make it.

But you aimed Waldo perfectly." She was beam-

ing.

"Don't forget that you helped," I said. I ufidid

the sling and tossed her the remains of her panties.

Then I took the shoelaces and strung them back in

my shoes.

"They'll know exactly where we are now, won't

they?" she said.

I nodded and finished tying my boots.


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CHAPTER XVII

We were tired and battered, but things had be-

come simple. We had only one task before us—

run. Nothing else mattered, not the pain, not the

mission, not the fate of poor Grusha, not even the

constant hunger. I looked over at a weary Katrina

laying against a tree, still panting from the exer-

tion, and hoped she understood this. I knew we

should rest for an hour, but we couldn't stop here.

We had to get as far from the site of the ex-sniper

as quickly as possible.

"Come on, let's go," I said.

"Oh, Nick, I'm so tired and hungry. How much

more

"l wish I knew. Come on." I got up and offered

her my hand. She pulled herself to her feet and we

started down the mountainside.

"At least there'll be no more mountains to

climb," I said.

"We'll be out of the forest soon and into the

karst country. It's as wild and rugged as this, but

there will be no large forests to protect us," she

said.

I'd been in the karst country before, but even so

it always seemed strange and unnatural. The karst

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is a deeply eroded highland of chalky limestone.

Water does strange things to it. There are deep

gorges, sink holes, caverns, rivers that run above

ground and then dive into rock, not emerging for

miles. The chalky stone makes poor soil, so there

are only tiny patches of fertile ground and small

clumps of trees. The rest is wild, barren, and as

picturesque as anyone could want. Unfortunately,

I didn't want picturesque; I wanted safe and secure.

If I were our pursuers, I'd wait at the edge of the

karst country, where the forest thins, and try to

pick us off there rather than waste time trying to

find us in the vast expanse of trees.

We jogged as fast as we could through the deep

forest.

"Nick, I can't go on without rest."

"Okay, an hour," I said. I set my watch and col-

lapsed next to her. I woke up promptly when the

alarm went off, but it wasn't so easy getting

Katrina going. Two hours later we were nearing

the edge of the karst country.

"Katrina, I said no more mountains, but we're

going to have to climb this little hill here so that we

can move along the ridgeline. They'll expect us to

be tired and hungry and take the line of least re-

sistance moving along the valleys."

"It's more like a mountain," she said wearily. I

had to admit it was tall for a hill, but it wasn't near-

ly as high as the mountains we had climbed earlier.

Eventually we made it to the top.

We edged our way cautiously along the ridgeline

as it gradually sloped into karst country. I wished

half a dozen times that I had my binoculars, but I

didn't, and with the naked eye I saw no sign of our

pursuers.

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

167


167

We followed the ridge down until it almost

reached the level of the plain. Before us was a

great, deeply etched plateau of karst. I studied the

landscape uneasily until I saw a small canyon run-

ning south and west that looked like our best shot.

We climbe&down from the rocky ledge and slipped

into the small defile. At first it was not deep---only

a few feet above our heads, but soon it emptied

into a larger gorge and that gorge into another still

larger. The small, green streamlet cutting down in

the center canyon had become a gray-green torrent

rushing like a mountain stream after spring thaw.

For the moment it seemed safe. The canyon contin-

ued to deepen and soon we were walking between

two-hundred-foot-high, gray-white walls, half rock,

half chalky talus. We kept up a good pace.

Once established, the rhythm seemed to carry us

along despite our bodies' aching protests.

We moved down a long, particularly straight

section of canyon. When the canyon began to angle

off to the right I turned around abruptly. It was the

oldest, simplest trick in the book. I saw figures

moving along both sides of the canyon's rim about

a quarter of a mile behind us and knew we were in

serious trouble. I pointed them out to Katrina but

hurried her along. We picked up our pace and

began putting some distance between us and the

pursuers. At first this made me hopeful, but after a

while I got suspicious. They seemed so confident;

they were apparently in no hurry to catch up, and

I began to wonder if they knew something we

didn't.

I kept looking up at the cliffs. There were few

boulders, little cover of any kind, and the canyon

walls were steep and crumbly, the worst combina-

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NICK CARTER

tion. There were several spots where we could have

climbed to the rim, but in the open we would be at

an even greater disadvantage carrying only our

pistols.

"They have sent some men down to the can-

yon," Katrina said.

' 'Yeah, I know. We're in a tough spot."

"We will make a fight of it, Jesse James. That, I

promise you. What comes, comes. I just hope they

attack us before I'm too tired to hold my pistol."

We had to slow down some because Katrina

couldn't maintain the pace. I didn't push her. We

could lose them in darkness, but spring days are

long. All they needed was rifles and it wouldn't be

much of a fight, despite Katrina's brave talk. I

patted her on the ass; I couldn't think of anything

else to do.

"You like that, huh, Jesse James?"

"Well enough."

"l am so hungry I could eat a caraboose."

"What's a caraboose?"

"You know, like you have in America. Great big

deers with funny horns. Carabooses."

"Yeah," I said. "I could eat one too."

"When you go back to America, you order a

caraboose steak in remembrance of our escape."

"I'll order two, one in remembrance of you. I

know a great diner in Buffalo. Caraboose steak is

their specialty."

They were closing on us, but slowly. I hoped

they were just overconfident. But when we rounded

the next bend I was genuinely surprised. I shook

my head, thinking I was seeing some kind of

mirage. The entire roaring green river disappeared

into a giant sink-hole in the limestone cliff. I knew


169

such geological features existed—the karst country

is famous for them—but I couldn't believe we had

stumbled onto this one. Quite simply, we were

trapped. I sat down on a boulder, trying to decide

what our next move would be. We were exhausted,

low on amrinmition, and a dozen well-armed and

well-trained men were moving in on us. It was

hours before dark. I looked around us at the high

cliffs of loose, chalky talus. It really didn't look like

we had much of a chance. It would be a long, slow

climb, and they would be here before we made it.

Either that or they'd be waiting for us on top.

I looked at the disappearing river and rested my

head in my hands. I sat there for several minutes.

Katrina sat next to me and threw her arm around

me. I guess she was too tired to say anything. I

looked around but my eyes kept on coming back to

the rushing river. Suddenly I had an idea. What

goes up must come down—what goes under must

come up. I looked at the river with new eyes. This

would be our way out.

"Come on, Katrina," I said. "We're going for a

swim." She looked at me strangely but didn't pro-

test.

"This river comes up out of rock in about a hun-

dred yards," I continued. "Hopefully we will, too."

"But some run underground for miles," Katrina

said with worry.

"Let's hope this isn't one of them." She shud-

dered visibly.

"Okay, here's how we do it," I said. "First, a

little playacting to make it look good. We pretend

to climb the cliff. They shoot at us. We shoot back

and fall into the river. The tricky part is not actual-

ly getting shot." I turned and looked behind me.


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NICK CARTER

They were obGously moving into position. There

was a man with a rifle on the far rim of the cliff.

His buddies would be here soon.

"Okay," I said. I strapped my belt around the

palm of her hand and wrapped the free end several

times around mine. "Stay very close. Try to stay

right behind me just under my legs. Take your left

arm and wrap it around your head. The only real

danger is being knocked out onto the rocks."

"Nick, this is crazy. We cannot do this."

"Come on," I said. "This is our only chance." I

pulled her along toward the loose, sloping cliff.

"One thing, Katrina. It might be a little longer

than a hundred yards. If you feel air and we're still

underneath, breathe deeply—and quickly." I

watched the roaring river vanish between limestone

jaws.

"Nick, I don't agree with this, I— ' she said, but

her last word was lost when they opened fire. The

chalky ground began puffing around us. She was

staring at the water, her wide blue eyes filling with

terror. I turned her head away.

"It's like climbing on the cliff," I said. "Don't

look. Take it one step at a time."

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

"No," I said, "absolutely not. You're not going

anywhere except for a swim." They opened fire

again. I fired back, then did my stumbling act. We

slid on the crumbling rock and dropped toward the

river.

The shock of the icy water brought home terrible

doubts about my plan. The green-white water

looked a dull, plain gray now that we were in it.

The roar grew louder. I looked up through swirling

water at the dirty limestone cliff and the black


171

cavern, which seemed to be reaching out for us

rather than waiting for us to be swept in. The sud-

den horror of dying in the darkness, trapped un-

derground, made my guts knot up. The maul grew

larger and larger. The sound of the cavern grew not

only louder büt hollower as we neared it, like some

immense animal moaning. I took one last deep

breath as the water swirled around us and swal-

lowed us up bringing us into absolute darkness.

I kept my eyes open but saw nothing. I fought to

keep us in the center of the swirling stream. I felt a

slashing pain as my arm cracked into the ceiling.

We tumbled in the roaring water. But my mind was

completely clear, as if I were in a clean, white room

watching the whole event while sitting quietly with

a martini in my hand.

The absolute dark continued and was punc-

tuated with abrupt, blindly felt stabs of pain.

I kept my head protected as I had told Katrina to

do. We smashed into walls, protruding rocks, and

I don't know what else. Darkness, darkness every

direction. My thoughts were becoming confused. I

felt the pressure under the jaw that comes with suf-

focation. My lungs began to ache. I could see no

light. Past, present, future, daydreams, nightmares,

everything was becoming confused. I was running

out of air. Katrina must have been too.

I fought my way up to the top and ran my out-

stretched hand along the ceiling. My brain was like

ticker tape, reading the news my hands sent. Wa-

ter, water, water, air. I pushed my head up,

searching for the air, only to be smashed against

rock. I slid deeper into the gushing stream but

fought my way up again. Again the outstretched

hand sent messages. Water, water, water, air. I

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NICK CARTER

pushed my head up and sucked in a breath. Never

have I felt anything so good in my life. I kicked

Katrina, signaling her to breathe. Then I actually

got a second full breath before my outstretched

hands felt rock coming and we dived back into the

center of the icy torrent.

The blackness went on and on. Pain struck me

like the pop-up monsters in a fun house—when I

least expected it. The familiar pattern of oxygen

starvation reasserted itself in the throat, the jaw,

the lungs. We tried to surface again, but my hands

just got slashed. My chest began to burn. My

brainwork got confused. I thought huge, terrible

faces were watching me die. Nick Carter and friend

were about to join the great majority. I began los-

ing consciousness but refused to suck in water.

Then I saw light. It took seconds for the meaning

of light to register. When it did, I pushed to the

surface and breathed in deeply. When my head

cleared, I turned to Katrina, who was coughing

desperately. I swatted her on the back and started

pulling her to shore. Soon we were lying on warm

rocks, battered but alive. Katrina had a smile on

her face, but her eyes were closed and she hadn't

spoken.

"Okay, let's go," she suddenly said and she

opened her eyes.

I laughed. "Now we can rest a few minutes."

"Will the film be all right?" she asked.

' 'It would take a hand grenade to puncture those

cannisters," I said.

The combination of relief and exhaustion made

it hard to get moving. We followed the canyon an-

other mile and climbed up on a rugged, rocky

plateau. Soon we were dropping into thick forest

again.

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

173


173

"How long do you think the cavern was?"

Katrina asked.

"l don't know. But we may be safer now than we

have been so far. Not only will they think we're

dead but also that they've recovered the docu-

ments. If I were them I'd pull all my people out of

here in order not to attract any more attention. The

best thing is to let the corpses turn up in the natural

course of things."

"They won't follow us?"

' 'They may get suspicious if our bodies don't

turn up in a week or so."

We said little more. Eventually we came to a dirt

road, which we followed from a distance of a hun-

dred yards into the woods. The first mile we saw

nothing but a few birds. Ahead was a small clear-

ing. Just then Katrina grabbed my hand and pulled

me back. There was a picnic basket in a patch of

oss, and a couple lying on a red-and-white-

hecked tablecloth. Two naked, blond-haired bod-

•es.

"They must have a car near here," I said. "Let's

ake a look." It didn't take long to find it, parked

•ust off the road. I looked it over. It was locked.

ere was nothing unusual about it except it

ooked like there were rice grains or confetti on the

ack seat. I didn't want to steal the car unless I had

o, because I didn't want any mysterious incidents

eported to the police.

"Let's give them a few minutes," I said. We sat

own heavily on some rocks and waited. "We'll tell

hem a sob story, and convince them to give us a

•de to your uncle's."

We didn't have long to wait. niey came up, arm

n arm, happy as a pair of porpoises. We popped

p and Katrina began a long, involved sob story. I

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NICK CARTER

watched their faces. They reacted with real con-

cern. I was sure we looked an absolute mess. They

wanted to take us to the hospital. We told them we

just wanted to go home. There was some confusion

when Katrina started to explain we were German-

speaking Swiss tourists on our honeymoon. I no-

ticed the Swiss license plates just in time. I gave her

a little kick and interjected that we were Yugoslav.

Katrina looked at me evilly, until they explained

they were German-speaking Swiss tourists on their

honeymoon.

Pretty soon we were bundled up in sweaters and

pants that they insisted we put on. It felt good to be

in warm clothes in the back seat of a car. They of-

fered us the remains of their lunch, which we ate

gratefully, The couple chatted away, and it wasn't

too long before we made it to the dusty track lead-

ing to Katrina's uncle's farm. We insisted they let

us off there and gave them our thanks and said

goodbye. Finally we headed down the road toward

the farm.


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CHAPTER XVIII

The burst of energy we had gotten from the first

food in days and the realization that we had actual-

ly survived didn't last long. Soon it was all we

could do to lift one foot after the other as we

walked down the dusty road. The scenery was pret-

ty—shining yellow fields, groves of pale olive trees.

The driveway looked even less promising than the

rutted track we had been walking along, but the

modest white farmhouse looked like just what we

needed. Katrina left me and went up to the front

door. She came back a moment later with a smile

on her face. I was looking around the place when

Katrina suddenly leaped up in the air laughing and

shouting.

"Well, Nick, it looks like we have the farm to

ourselves for a couple of days. My uncle was called

away on business and left a note for his farmhands

to stay away until he returns. She searched under

an old flower pot for a key. Her enthusiasm for the

place was unlimited. "Look," she said, "running

water. Look, flush toilet. Look, electricity." By

Western standards the place looked pretty modest,

but by Yugo standards it was quite a place. She

had just sat down in a big easy chair to show me

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NICK CARTER

how comfortable it was, when she closed her eyes

yawned, and fell right asleep. I carried her to th

The next two days were the best of the trip

There was plenty of food, a lot of quiet, hot show

ers, a comfortable place to sleep, and Katrina. Bu

the best always ends, and a quick two days later w

left, hiking over a low range of mountains down t

the highway. We hitched a ride to the small Bos

nian town of Belicia, where I figured we were fa

away enough from the scene of our last encounte

to chance stealing a car. Katrina disapproved, bu

I said we'd leave money stuffed in the back seat a

compensation. She finally admitted there was n

other option.

We drove the stolen car to the little Serbian tow

of Doboj and bought train tickets to Vinkobi

which was actually out of the way. At Vinkobi w

changed our clothes and rode separately to Ljubl

jana, the capital of Slovenia, a hundred miles pas

Zagreb. We passed our real destination for a pur

pose. I was determined to weave a complicated pat

tern that would take CRML and their infiltrant

into OZNA weeks to untangle. We went shoppin

in Ljubljana and then rented a car.

The whole complicated business had taken a da

and a half, and it was almost noon when we finall

pulled into Zagreb. Katrina had calls to make,

we stopped across from a booth on one of Zagreb'

broad, tree-lined boulevards. The city is much be

ter preserved than Belgrade but lacks the latter

exotic oriental touch. The Turks never quit

reached this far north and east, when their gre

Ottoman empire spread over much of the Balkan

I watched Katrina's expression shift. After som


177

alls she looked happy, after others disturbed and

orried. She came over to the car in the middle of

ne call.

"What kind of ammunition do you need?" she

ked. She still didn't like the idea of getting it for

e. When she* Kad finished her calls she walked

ack to the car looking the best she had in days. I

dmired her legs; they reminded me of the fright-

ned but self-possessed woman I'd first seen walk-

ng over to my table at the café in Belgrade. I was

etting used to her and liking it.

"l think I have found a safe place to stay, Nick."

I nodded.

"I should explain something about the situation

ere," she said. She looked solemn. "I don't know

ow much you know about Croatian politics."

"I know a lot, bit how do they figure in with the

ocuments and CRML?"

"The Croats are a proud people who for a long

ime have been dominated by others. There are

eelings of independence here. Croatian na-

ionalism somehow took a bad turn. Many wel-

omed the Nazis until most realized they had made

mistake. The Fox is Croat and always kept them

line. But there has been a violent separatist

ovement here for some time.

"Some want a small, independent Croatian

tate. It would be easy pickings for our Eastern

usins. Blood of Croatians is now the worst

roup. nere may be trouble. Many of the people

ho will help us are Croatian dissidents who op-

se the Blood.

"A few weeks ago they distributed some pam-

hlets showing that one of the Blood's leaders was

esponsible for killing many Croats during World

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NICK CARTER

War II. This has hurt the Blood badly, even wit

extreme nationalists. The Blood is angry and i

trying to get even with the Croatian dissidents

There have been attacks on my friends, and the po

lice do not stop them. We will have not onl

CRML and their OZNA infiltrants to deal with

but also these fascists. I am sorry about this.

would not involve us in all this except I have n

other place to turn. These are the people who wil

help us expose the controlled ones."

"You're going to publish the documents here?"

asked.

"Here and elsewhere. We'll publish them here i

Zagreb and also in Belgrade and in Skopje, the ca

ital of Macedonia. The Macedonian president is

controlled one. I plan to stay here until everythin

is published and then go to Belgrade to see m

father. A courier is to come from Belgrade and on

from Skopje to pick up the photographs of th

documents.

"Once we have duplicates of the film and thing

are set, I want you to leave the country and tak

the duplicate film to the West——in case somethin

happens to us. Promise me, though, that you won'

publish the material before us."

"I promise. I think our government will honor i

but sometimes when national interest is at stak

pressures can be complicated." She patted me o

the knee and gave me her friend's address.

"Oh, Nick," she sighed. "I will be so glad whe

this is over and I can go back to making danc

again."

She said her name was Silvie. She took my han

so éently that I barely knew she was touching i


179

She was tall and thin and had big black eyes and

shining black hair. Her arms and legs were slender,

her breasts large for her body type, and she looked

as delicate as a bird's egg. Her skin was white and

translucent like bone china. She said she was a

dancer like Rairina but with a different company.

We would be staying with her for a couple of days.

"Say very little to the dissidents," Katrina had

warned me on the way over. "Don't lie about

school or a job; they will just check you out. They

will ask friends of friends of friends until they find

someone who knows you, or worse, someone who

should know you and doesn't. It is better to be

mysterious. I will vouch for you. You speak our

language so well I don't think they will suspect."

"Right," I said. When Silvie told me what she

did, I told her nothing in return. Once she and

Katrina had started talking, I took a look around

the apartment. It was on the third floor, and there

were two exits. I leaned out a window and noticed

an overhanging roof three stories up. The weakest

part of the apartment was the doors and locks. I

gave Silvie some money to buy locks. I figured I'd

pick up some wood and a couple of iron bars my-

self. Katrina went to make calls. I sat looking at

Silvie, and she sat looking at me. Such big black

eyes ought to be illegal. Before we got around to

talking, Katrina came back in the room.

"Nick, we have a delivery to make. Silvie, I

won't be back until very late, but Nick may be

back sooner."

A minute later we were out in the street.

Katrina said, "Let's walk. We're going to the

photographer's who will develop the film. He

helped publish the pamphlet that angered the


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NICK CARTER

Blood. His office was attacked and he sounds

shaky. Please stay until you have the duplicate film

and then bring it back and hide it at Silvie's. I have

many errands to do."

We climbed four flights of stairs in a prewar

building much like Silvie's but in worse shape.

Katrina knocked on the door and said her name.

There was no immediate response. Katrina ex-

plained to the silent door once more who she was.

We heard what sounded like furniture being

moved. Shortly thereafter the door opened a crack.

"Milos, it's Katrina."

"l know, I know," said the small man with

glasses as he emerged from behind the door. "I am

sorry. The Blood broke up my shop. I'm a photog-

rapher, not a street fighter. I'm against those

fascists, but I'm not made for this. My assistant

quit. She had been with me for years." He looked

at me. "Who is this man?"

"A friend, Milos. Now calm yourself." We

walked into a narrow hallway to the living room. A

table leg was wrapped in tape sitting on a table.

"Expecting company?" I said.

. I hope not," he said. I helped him slide

some furniture down the hallway to block the

door.

' 'You know, three people have been badly

beaten," he said. "Two are still in the hospital." He

spoke nervously.

"So we have heard," Katrina said. "Your shop

was totally destroyed?"

"Yes, but I have always done most of my de-

veloping here. You've got film for me?"

I handed him the cannisters.

"This has to do with the Blood?" he said.


181

"Our country has always had more than one en-

emy," he said. "On one side are the fascists, on the

other the Stalinists like CRML." He tried to open

the cannisters but couldn't. I reached over and

showed him fiow.

He looked at them nervously.

"l want to talk to you privately, Katrina," he

said. He hurried her into a nearby room. As he

closed the door I heard him say nervously, "What

is this, Katrina? These are not ordinary can-

nisters." I moved away from the door to have a

look around. The place would be a trap if there

were ever an attack. When they emerged from the

room, he looked more sheepish and worried than

ever.

"Nick, I must go," Katrina said. "You say the

film is tricky to develop. Please help Milos for me."

He had trouble developing the film. It was de-

signed to be impossible to develop unless you knew

the exact specifications, but even when you knew

them it took much effort. When he put the film in

his enlarger and saw its incredible resolution he got

upset all over again. He began to complain how

difficult it would be to blow it up and make prints

and so forth. I was getting tired of his griping, so I

opened up my wallet and started counting out

money on the enlarging table.

"How much equipment do you figure you lost?"

I asked. ' 'We want to help you out." I kept count-

ing. His frown turned to a grin.

"I would do this for nothing," he said, "but I

have expenses. I am not a rich man."

"I understand," I said and took out my wallet

again to give him more money.

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NICK CARTER

"Enough, enough!" he said. "I really don't care

about the money. I will donate it to the cause."

I nodded and put away the wallet. It might be for

the cause, but for all I knew maybe he just wanted

a demonstration of our ability to protect him.

When he finished duplicating the negatives, he

asked, "Can you get me out of the country?"

"The borders are pretty open," I said. "Rent a

car and drive, after you develop the film."

"l thought maybe you could help me get a job in

the West."

"I've never been out of Yugoslavia in my life."

"I am sorry. should know better than. .

"Nonsense," I said magnanimously. "Ask me

anything you want. There are no secrets here." I

gave him a broad smile and he scurried back to

work.

It took him a long time to duplicate the film; it

can't be done the normal way. I stayed in the dark-

room with him until he had finished. I slipped the

duplicate negatives into my pocket. He walked me

to the door, where I showed him how to wedge it

shut properly. It was dark when I left the building,

but the air was refreshing after hours of sniffing

chemicals. I detoured over to the main shopping

street and picked up some materials to reinforce

the door.

I knocked on Silvie's door even though I had a

key. She opened it looking more vulnerable than

ever in a yellow bathrobe, fresh from the shower. I

went to work on the door. The locks she'd gotten

weren't much, but they were better than the others.

I put the metal and wood reinforcement bars in

place and then painted the whole thing with white

paint. It looked very civilized.


183

Silvie came over while I was finishing up. "l like

the door," she said. "You're a good craftsman." I

smiled. She was fragile and beautiful, but somehow

Katrina was on my mind and I could only admire

Silvie—-but that's as far as it went. I think she un-

derstood that, because her next words were,

"Katrina is very lucky." Again I smiled.

When I finished with the lock, I went into the

bathroom for a much-needed shower. When I

came out, I found Silvie and Katrina sitting on the

single worn green sofa, sobbing. Newspapers were

spread around.

"Ivo is dead," Katrina said, bursting into sobs

again.

I walked over and picked up the papers. ,

SCULPTOR KILLED IN AUTO ACCIDENT, read the big

headline. I scanned the article; it all sounded suspi-

cious.

Silvie had stopped sobbing a little.

"Why don't we try to eat dinner," I said. Silvie

offered to make us something and went into the

kitchen. I sat down beside Katrina and opened the

paper. There was a long obituary and pictures. He

was a famous sculptor. The photographs did him

justice: Ivo standing with his arm draped over one

of his big sculptures, Ivo receiving the Lenin prize,

Ivo in his judo outfit, Ivo riding a motorcycle and

waving. I leaned back and star-.ed reading the arti-

cle.

Katrina began sobbing again. "He was such a

good man," she said.

"I know. But he should have left the country

when we told him to. By the way," I added, 'Sif you

don't get some protection for Milos, he is going to

end up as dead as Ivo. That place of his is a death-

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NICK CARTER

trap." Just then Silvie came to the door.

I got up and walked into the kitchen and at-

tempted dinner. Katrina couldn't eat. Silvie sat

with me but ate nothing. After a while I heard

Katrina make some calls.

I was leaning back in my chair looking through

the paper after dinner when Katrina walked in. "I

want to see the film," she said.

"It's under the floorboards in the bedroom."

She didn't look herself, so I went and got the film

for her..Her eyes were bright red, but she looked

through the film with a magnifying glass.

Abruptly she said, "There will be a meeting

tomorrow night, so please be there. Would you do

me a favor and stay with Milos tomorrow, then

bring back the prints when he's finished? But be

careful. More people were attacked by the Blood

today." I watched her. She was really hurting, but

she forced herself to stay together. I liked that.

"Then the day after tomorrow you can take the

duplicate film out of the country. Make your prep-

arations. You remember our agreement."

"Yes," I answered. "I can come back if you need

help. "

"l don't think that will be necessary, thank

you." She went and made some more calls.

That night we all slept separately. For some rea-

son Katrina preferred it that way. When I woke up

the next morning, she had already gone. It looked

like we were back where we started from


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CHAPTER XIX

"I'm going to make a call," I said to Silvie as I

slipped Wilhelmina into her holster and headed for

the door. "See you tonight."

"There's a phone here, Nick."

"Not for this kind of call there isn't." The big,

bedroom eyes watched me leave.

It was a nice, brisk morning. I walked almost a

mile before I picked a phone booth to make my call

from.

"Hello, Rosa, this is Cousin Dmitri."

"Ah, Dmitri, it's good to hear from you."

"Is that lovestruck young guy still following you

around all the time?"

"No, Dmitri. I haven't seen anyone. No one

even calls me, although there is nothing wrong with

the telephone." Now came the hard part.

"I'm going to cut my vacation a little short, but

I think I'll spend my last day in Dubrovnik. Why

not join me?"

"Yes, Dmitri."

"l remember when we used to go hunting as

kids, Rosa. Most of the girls were afraid of guns,

but you were always such a good shot. And you

didn't have to come with us."

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NICK CARTER

"It's been a long time, Dmitri. I used to like tag-

ging along behind you just to make sure nothing

happened to my little cousin while he did his er-

rands."

"Yes. They are going to be staging a Western

play—Shakespeare's Coriolanus. Why don't we see

"I'd like that, Dmitri." She paused. "Dmitri, I

remember how much you always liked to play with

toy boats and planes when we were children."

"Boats more than planes, Rosa, especially toy

submarines."

"Ah, yes, I remember how you used to have

them arranged. "

"Here is the recipe my mother wanted you to

have. Got a pad and pencil?" I gave her the coded

message for Hawk.

"I'll bake it up myself tonight," she said. We

went through the rest of the double talk. I was glad

to hear she'd be on the evening plane to the AXE

station in Italy. I hung up the phone, thinking of

black, lacy underwear.

I didn't like asking for her help. Protecting

somebody's back is an easy way to die. But I

couldn't take any chances getting the film out.

I waltzed over to Milos's place at a leisurely

pace. But when I got there, I received a rude awak-

ening. A goon was standing across the street who

looked like he'd make a good tackle for the

Steelers. I hurried up the steps.

After a good five minutes of arguing, I finally

convinced them to open the door. Milos's normally

pale face looked ghostly, as if Death himself had

put on make-up. There were three men with clubs

in the living room and a shotgun was lying on the

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

187


187

table. I pointed out the goon across the street.

"We see him," one of the men said. "He's been

there about an hour. He's a Blood. We've met be-

fore."

Milos hustled me off to the darkroom to see the

prints. I flipped through the glossy black-and-

whites. Some of the documents were in German,

some in Serbo-Croatian. All, I suppose you could

say, were written in treason. Men who betray are

least likely to have scruples, yet when I read be-

tween the lines I couldn't help feeling some sympa-

thy. nese men squirmed like worms trying to get

off the hook. There was a litany of excuses, ex-

planations about why this or that piece of informa-

tion had been wrong or was not available.

Still, they had almost succeeded in destroying

the Fox and crippling the partisan army. The Nazis

had launched a surprise attack on the Fox's head-

quarters with a special paratroop battalion and

almost killed the Fox and his entire staff. *Ille Fox

had forgiven many things, but that attack had

nearly cost him the war. It certainly had cost him

many friends and colleagues; he would never for-

give it. So the Nazis' controlled ones had become

CRML controlled ones until there was a stack of

betrayals a mile high.

"How much longer?" I asked Milos.

"I was up all night. Another hour and I'll have

them all."

"Good. Once you're finished I think you should

go away for a while." Milos wore his usual worried

expression. I patted him on the back and walked

back into the living room.

The men were young and strong, but they didn't

look much like fighters to me. They told me that

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NICK CARTER

the Blood had been hitting their people for quite

awhile, but that nobody had been killed although

more of their friends were in hospitals from an at-

tack overnight. We watched the street from the

window. I had walked away to rest my eyes a bit,

when they called me over. A van pulled up and half

a dozen tough-looking men piled out. Then a green

Zastava 100 pulled up and out poured more thugs.

They were carrying clubs, chains, and sledgeham-

mers.

"Maybe we'd better get out of here," said one of

the younger men.

"Milos isn't through developing the prints," I

said by way of saying no to them.

"We wouldn't make it anyway," said another.

"Then we'll have to make a stand," said the

tough blond who seemed to be their leader.

A minute later the door started splintering. I

pulled out Wilhelmina.

"Wait," said the leader. "Neither side has used

guns yet." I looked over at the shotgun. He fol-

lowed my eye.

"Only as a last resort," he said. I put away

Wilhelmina and picked myself a club from a batch

on a chair. When the fascists finished off the door

they began shouting: "Blood of Croatia is shed for

freedom" over and over. The effect was kind of

nasty.

They piled into the narrow hallway, knocking

and shoving the furniture back into the living

room. They screamed, "Death to the betrayers of

nationhood!" as they came at us. But I noticed

some hesitation when they saw us standing ready

to fight. They hadn't expected to meet four armed

men. They had expected to bust up a single, mee

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

189


189

little photographer. I noticed something else, too,

something that would cost them dearly. They were

packed so tightly in the narrow hallway that they

wouldn't be able to fight without bashing each

other. If we stopped at the doorway, we could stop

them. They P1ißht outnumber us three to one, but

they would never have more than two guys fight-

ing at any one time.

The room exploded in screams. We attacked. I

went for them swinging my club like a Neanderthal

and shouted for effect. I smashed into the goons

head on, while the rest of our guys moved in to

support me. Some bones got broken. I was faster

and more unpredictable than they were, and the

Blood paid for it.

Pretty soon three of their guys were spread out

on the floor. They had no room to maneuver. I

waded into them, bringing my club down over and

over with everything I had. I had to let down my

guard in the process, but they were getting hurt too

badly and too fast to take advantage of it. The dis-

sidents pulled one of the Blood into the room and

worked him over. Another guy dropped to his

knees. I brought the club down, screaming like a

banshee. When I couldn't get through his defense I

kicked him under the jaw. I kept waiting for the

Blood to break. For a while I thought they would

just keep coming until we had finished them. Final-

ly, they broke. It was a massacre. Only two es-

caped. It was unlikely that they would be back.

The victory was particularly vicious, I think, be-

cause it was the dissidents' first, after taking a lot

of beatings. I went to get Milos, because we had to

leave in case they did decide to return with rein-

forcements. I didn't rush him unnecessarily,

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RTE

though. I let him get his things together. I kept the

set of prints to be published in Zagreb and gave the

other two to the blond guy to give directly to

Katrina. When I came back the dissidents were

standing around the fallen Blood looking sick,

their triumphant bravado dissipated. What had

seemed only a vicious game to them was now over;

two Blood were dead. I wondered if the dissidents

had the heart for this kind of savagery. The Blood

would take man for man as payment, and the dissi-

dents knew it. The hallway was filled with groans

and cries of pain; the walls and floors were splat-

tered with blood.

One of the younger men began to sob. I slapped

his face hard, then pushed him along the hall with

the rest.

"I've lived here twenty years," Milos said. "I'll

never be able to come back. "

"Let's hope you'll be able to leave," I said.

When we got outside, the bullets began flying. The

blond guy opened up with the shotgun, and I

pumped some slugs their way with Wilhelmina.

There were only a couple of them left, and as soon

as we returned the fire they ran for it.

"l don't know what's happening," Milos said.

"I'm a peaceful man. I haven't been in a fight since

I was a boy." He stopped to look back the way we

had come.

"Keep moving," I said.

S'My whole life. Everything is gone. "

"It's the only way," I said.

"But where will I go?"

"I've got a place you can stay tonight," I said. I

took him to Silvie's.

She was very nice to him. I hid my set of prints

under the bedroom floor. Then I checked

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

191


191

Wilhelmina and told them fo keep the door locked

and went to the war conference Katrina had told

me to attend that night.

Eight of them were seated around a long wooden

table and another four or five scattered about the

room. I spotted Katrina on the other side of the

room. I could hear people moving and talking in

the other rooms. Half-empty cups of Turkish cof-

fee were everywhere. I recognized the men I had

fought against the Blood with. The introductions

seemed to go on and on, but all I remember was

Andrej, the tough blond. When I was seated, An-

drej continued to press home some point he had

been trying to make.

"For the first time today, we stood up to the

Blood and won. We beat them and they outnum-

bered us three to one. They ran for their lives."

"Yes, we fought them man to man," said anoth-

er one.

"lt's time to smash the Blood once and for all,"

Andrej said. "We will defeat them. We are tired of

being terrorized by these goons. We must defeat

the Blood first; then we will take up the problem of

CRML and Katrina's 'controlled ones,' which I

grant you is just as important."

"l agree, the Blood are dangerous. We have to

defend ourselves," said Katrina. "But I'm sorry we

have to fight them, because CRML is the real dan-

ger to our country. They may already control the

Fox's secret police, and they certainly have connec-

tions with the KGB. If the Red Army rolls into our

country, it will all be over."

Andrej spoke. "Katrina has a good point. But it

is the Blood who beat up our people and the Blood

whose existence is a stain on our honor."

' 'They are insignificant," Katrina insisted.

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NICK CARTER

"They are just a local group. CRML is everywhere.

It's CRML who have infiltrated our government."

At this point I decided to join the debate. "l

don't want to take anything away from your vic-

tory this afternoon, but the Blood's loss was an ac-

cident." I explained about the narrow hallway. I

could see that my words carried some weight be-

cause of my role in the fight.

"You won a battle, but do you really want to

fight it out with the Blood one on one?" I asked. I

looked around the room sizing up each individual

in turn. Only three or four had any muscle. I did

this melodramatically, getting them to see what I

saw.

"We'll use our brains," said Andrej, answering

my unspoken question.

"It's a fool's errand," I said. "The Fox's men

have no love of fascists. They are playing the Blood

off against you. What you must do is pressure the

Fox and OZNA to repress the Blood. Get out pam-

phlets, go to the international press and complain

about fascist attacks. You'll force the Fox's hand.

He'd never allow the world to believe he is soft on

fascism."

Suddenly three or four people were talking at

once. Katrina broke in and did some talking. They

argued on and on. At that point I went into the

kitchen for a glass of wine and a bite to eat.

Just when I had found myself a glass of wine and

fixed a sandwich, Katrina burst into the kitchen.

"Nick, it's Silvie," she screamed. "Some men are

trying to break into her apartment."

We ran down the stairs. We tried to find a car or

a taxi, but couldn't. It wasn't far to Silvie's. We ran

all the way.


HAPTER XX

I ran up the stairs. My heart was pounding but

not from the physical exertion. I'd been around

long enough to know what we would find. Still, the

sight of Silvie and Milos hanging from a beam in

the living room filled me with rage. At least they

hadn't been tortured. Whoever had murdered them

must have found Silvie on the phone and had been

afraid help would arrive. Iran over and looked out

the window. I saw four guys jumping into a small

green car. I ran down the stairs like a madman. I

ran over to the nearest car and yanked the driver

out at gunpoint.

They nearly got away, but I caught up with

them, almost by accident, about four blocks from

the apartment. After that, following them was

almost too easy. The reason was not hard to figure

out—these guys were not afraid of anyone. There

was nothing furtive about them, and I began to

wonder if they were really Blood.

We wove our way through the darkened streets

to the old warehouse district in the upper section of

the city. Zagreb had once been two cities, a sacred

one and a secular one, which later grew together. I

had been in this area only once and wasn't sure

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NICK CARTER

exactly where I was. I saw the thugs pull over and

park about two-thirds of the way down the block.

They were laughing and slapping each other on the

back as they walked over to an old brick ware-

house building. There was no light on and one lit

up after they entered.

I extracted Pierre. Our fascist friends were in for

a little surprise. It took me a few seconds to pick

the ground-floor lock. I ran up the stairs, stopping

on each landing and listening at each door. On the

fourth floor I heard voices below. I flattened

against the wall and waited with Pierre in one hand

and Wilhelmina in the other. When I stopped heare

ing voices I slipped down a floor and put my ear to

the door but heard nothing.

I picked the lock and opened the door. There

was another heavy metal door about six feet down

the unlighted hallway. I left the first door closed

behind me and dropped to the floor. This time I

could see a faint bit of light but heard nothing

much. I picked the second lock in almost total

darkness.

I swung the door open. It was a large, empty

room with exposed metal rafters running along the

ceiling. There were only packing crates and a yel-

low light bulb hanging in a corner. But now I saw

a light coming from under the door opposite me.

Ihis was someone's headquarters and they were

reasonably professional. I looked around quickly

and found an unused telephone line. I cut the cord

and wrapped it double around the doorknob. I

could hear them laughing. One of them said, "You

should have seen her twitch. The little guy pissed in

his pants when we strung him up." They all

laughed. I pushed open the door. There was a

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACR


195

roomful of surprised eyes staring at me. I smelled

the booze, the stale smoke, and the fear; soon they

would be sniffing Pierre. I plugged a couple of the

bastards just to create confusion and tossed in

Pierre. I pulled the door shut and jumped back.

Bullets cameesplintering through the wood after

me, but it was too late. I had dropped to the floor

and braced myself so I could hold the door closed

with the chord.

It wouldn't take long. I figured I had taken may-

be ten or twelve of them. They pumped more holes

in the door and yanked and pulled, but soon the

sounds of anger turned to horrible cries and chok-

ing sounds. I ran across the room. I flung open the

first metal door and ran down the short hallway

and flung open the second. I turned and started

down the stairs. Suddenly I couldn't feel anything

in my right arm. There were awful-looking faces

around me, and I was getting hit. I tried fighting

back, but my body wouldn't listen. I felt things hit-

ting me all over. I got dizzy, and then the world

turned black.

When I woke up' I found my feet and hands

handcuffed together behind my back. I was lying

on my stomach, and my stomach wasn't feeling so

good.

"He killed all of them. Gas or something. He

killed ten guys!" I felt a boot crunch into my ribs.

"Who are you?" I didn't say much and felt the

boot again.

"You'll talk, believe me you will."

"Who is this guy?" Suddenly I was looking into

a large bore gun. I saw the finger pull the trigger

ever so slowly and the flash. For a second I thought

it was all over, but he had moved the shot over. He

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NICK CARTER

was quick. My ears rung.

"He's mine," I heard a deep, grunting voice say.

Soon I was looking at the voice's ugly mug. "You

killed my brother," it said. He put a pen knife close

to my face. "I'm going to start cutting you. Cutting

off things until you die. But that's going to take a

long time. First I'm going to cut off your nose." He

slipped the knife close.

"Nemo, get away from him. You can have him

later. "

"Cut his nose first."

"No, we are going to take a ride. I don't want

him bleeding like a stuck pig all over the car."

I could feel him

g 'I'm going to cut things."

fumbling with my shoe. "I'm going to save the

good parts for later."

"Nemo, get away from him. You can have him

after the professionals get through. I want him to

spill his guts out properly."

"I'm going to cut him first." I heard the report

of a pistol. Nemo backed away from me suddenly.

"Damn, you almost shot me," he said.

"You follow orders or you're going to be as dead

as he is going to be."

"String him over that rafter. You guys can soft-

en him up a bit, but I don't want a lot of blood and

I don't want him dead. Understand?"

They tied rope where the handcuffs were, hauled

me up in the air, and practiced high-kicking me in

the stomach. Then they swung me head first into

the wall. That was hard because every instinct

screamed for me to put up my hands to protect

myself, and of course I couldn't. When they tired

of that, they hauled me up to the ceiling and let the

rope loose. At the last minute they pulled the rope

THE DUBROVNIK M


197

taut, wrenching my arms and legs back so hard I

thought they would snap. Then they let me freefall

all the way onto my stomach from about nine feet

up. Each time I dropped, the air was knocked com-

pletely out of me and my knees banged helplessly.

I tried to hoitmy head back from the floor, but my

face slammed into it from the momentum, although

not nearly so hard as the rest of me. I began think-

ing about my capsule. Waldo would have come in

handy, of course, but at the rate they were pound-

ing my face no one would be able to identify me

anyway.

"Hey, you guys, leave some for me," Nemo said,

coming over. He cut me on the neck with his

penknife.

' 'That's enough!" I heard. '"Save him for the

pros."

"His face is bloody. Wipe it off." Someone

pushed a dirty rag at my face.

"Hey, fellow," said the boss, kneeling next to

me. "Tell me your name and I won't let them hurt

you for a while."

I gave him a phony Yugo name. He scoffed at

me in disbelief. "There'll come a time when you'll

be begging to tell me, pal."

I lay on the floor a long time thinking.

"Let's take his fingerprints,"

someone sug-

gested.

"Let's take off his fingers," Nemo said with a

suppressed giggle. Suddenly I was dragged across

the floor.

"Is this the guy?" the boss asked. My eyes were

funny. I couldn't see much.

S' Yeah, I think so. The last time I saw him was in

the mountains; he fell into a river and never came

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out. He's got nine lives, I think."

"That was his last," a voice said.

The boss spoke again. "Let's move him; it's

going to be light soon. There's no use in taking any

more chances than necessary."

They pulled me to my feet and held me up.

Nemo slipped past one of the guards and punched

me in the solar plexus. I grunted.

"That's for my brother. Now I'm going to cut

you."

"Nemo, this is my last warning," the boss said.

"Next time I'm going to put a bullet in your fat

carcass."

They dragged me out the doors and down the

stairs. Nemo managed to slip me a couple of kid-

ney punches as we went out. They dragged me

across the street to the small green Fiat I had seen

them come in and pushed me roughly into the back

seat. One thug scrunched in on either side of me;

the other two got in front.

"I can cut him now, huh, boys?" said Nemo.

"Show some respect, Nemo," replied the driver.

C' You heard the boss."

"I've always followed orders. But this guy killed

my brother. Did you see him? His face was green,

he was suffocating on his own puke. Have I cut

anybody except under orders?" They didn't say

anything.

He looked back at me. You could have cooled a

blast furnace with that look.

"I'm going to fix you, fellow." He tried to jab me

in the face, but the thug on my left grabbed his

wrist. They started the car and pulled away from

the curb, but they hadn't gone ten feet when they

slammed to a halt. There was someone standing

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THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

in front of the car.

199

"Who's that guy?" a goon asked. I still couldn't

see well enough to make him out.

' 'There's just one guy," said the driver. "Go see

what he wants." Nemo swung open his door and

walked out tö talk with the stranger. I squinted. He

was a little, thin man with a shock of white hair

and maybe a mustache.

I saw a flash and Nemo dropped to the pave-

ment with a thud. The little man took a couple of

steps casually to the left, as if he were getting ready

to do a folk dance. I still didn't know who he was.

A pistol hung from one end of his outstretched

arm, a little lopsidedly. He looked more like a

matador holding a sword than a gunman holding a

gun.

I heard three light, sharp noises. He was shoot-

ing small caliber, and I understood now that he

had done the dance to avoid ricochets off the wind-

shield. Brains popped out of the back of the goons'

heads splattering gray stuff and blood over the

windows. I felt the guys next to me twitch and then

go limp.

The stranger walked up to the car somewhat ten-

tatively and opened the door. "Nicholas Carter,

Killmaster?"

"Igor Aleksandrovich Snayper, KGB?" 1 an-

swered.

I examined the small mustache and bushy eye-

brows, but I had known who he was as soon as he

had started shooting. We had never met profes-

sionally, since, obviously, both of us were still

alive. He examined each one of his shots, muttering

to himself and measuring with his thumbs how the

holes were centered on their foreheads.

NICK CARTER


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"Ah, I'm getting old, Nicholas. I don't shoot like

I used to," he said in English with a thick Russian

accent.

I coughed a little and said: "Looks pretty good

to me, Igor."

He shook his head sadly.

"Yes, yes, well .

"But where are my manners? You must be uncom-

fortable, Nicholas." He pulled a goon from the car

and let him drop in the gutter. Then he reached in

and helped me out. When he saw the handcuffs, he

rummaged through his pockets until he found the

key.

"Shall we walk a bit, Nicholas?"

"Wilhelmina," I said, gesturing to the car. Hc

looked puzzled.

"My gun."

"Yes, of course." He stepped back and made

ready to draw.

There aren't many rules in my profession, but an

absolute one is this: One good turn deserves anoth-

er. But you don't accept help from a source you

don't want it from—that's what Igor thought by

my wanting my gun. was glad to be saved but less

than enthusiastic about my savior. Lots of my col-

leagues have wound up with those neat little holes

in their forehead.

I thanked him firmly for his help and very care-

fully slipped Wilhelmina into her holster. I could

have drawn on him, of course, but then I would

have been dead and my mission. ruined. Igor

Aleksandrovich was everybody's candidate for the

finest gunman in the world.

"We should go, Nicholas." He handed me a sil-

ver hip flask. I took a couple of deep drinks—

cognac!


201

"My stomach, Nicholas, is not so good for

vodka."

We started down the street. He offered me his

hand. I'm airgid I hobbled quite a bit. I nodded

back toward the car.

S' The KGB doesn't like fascists," I said.

' 'Those are not fascists, Nicholas. They are

CRML agents pretending to be Blood, you under-

stand?" My eyes opened the widest they'd opened

in hours. He continued: ' 'That way the Blood and

the dissidents kill each other off and save CRML

the trouble. "

"I thought CRML and the KGB were the best of

pals."

"Oh, we are, Nicholas, we are."

"Then—"

"You know, sometimes someone offers you

something big—like a great dowry. All free. All

you must do is marry someone called maybe

CRML and bring her into your house. But if

CRML comes to your house, who is to say what

will happen—she already has relatives there? You

are understanding, Nicholas? It takes too much

guts to say no to such a fine offer like Mediter-

ranean ports. " He spread his fingers apart and held

up his hand to me. "Nicholas, I have five grand-

children now. One time Uncle Joe is enough." He

looked at me carefully.

"I got you, Igor," I said.

"Children I don't care so much about. Wife

either. But grandchildren have walked into my

heart." He looked away dreamily, but his eyes

stayed crystal clear. "I am ready to retire—old man

grows soft. Grandchildren grow up—-no Uncle

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NICK CARTER

Joe. " He shook his head as he said each word firm-

"I understand," I said. "What are a few ports in

Yugoslavia compared to having CRML running

the Soviet?"

"It might interfere with my retirement, Nich-

olas," he said sadly.

"I understand, Igor. But what can we do for

you? One good turn deserves another. Perhaps

something to ease retirement?" We stopped and he

handed me the flask. I took a deep swallow. I was

holding up my end of the conversation, but I

wasn't feeling so good.

"l have good pension—and dacha—but should

Uncle Joe's boys . . ."

"Four hundred thousand in a numbered Swiss

bank account," I interjected.

"Two hundred thousand is enough. I'm a simple

man." He paused, looking thoughtful. He was

probably getting his list of requests organized in his

mind.

"One son, only forty, qlready has heart trouble.

Mayo clinic, no charge."

"Yes."

"My elder sister's son has disappeared in Argen-

tina. I want him back."

"Ah, Igor, you know how it is down there. The

innocent get chopped to pieces. Don't have hope

for the guilty."

"l want my nephew."

"AXE didn't train the death squads, Igor. Some-

one we know did. We don't have as good connec-

tions. If they got him, he was tortured. Believe me,

he is dead."

"If he is dead, very well. I want his body sent

home to his mother."


203

"We'll do what we can, but they've got no re-

spect for the dead down there. The corpses are

scattered over the whole damn country."

"I want him buried in soil of Russia. I think you

can do this (or me. You tell David Hawk what

would have haÖpened to you and your mission if it

had not been for Igor."

"You know us, Igor. We pay our debts." He

reached into his pocket and handed me the flask

again. It was almost empty, but there was enough

of the hot, burning stuff to wet my parched throat.

I handed him back the flask when I finished.

"Igor is retiring," he said again.

' 'We don't hit retirees, Igor. You know the rules.

But when you retire, Igor, stay in the Soviet Union.

If we see you vacationing abroad, we'll assume the

worst."

"Here is CRML command post address," he

suddenly said. "As you Americans say, I would get

them before they get you. I'm leaving for Minsk in

the afternoon. "

' 'Thanks. I am honored to have met you Igor

Aleksandrovich," I said. I looked at the world's

best sharpshooter. I'd say he stood about five feet

four inches if that. I started to walk away. He

turned and walked in the other direction.


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CHAPTER XXI

I hobbled to the cab and somehow made it to the

apartment. I woke up a day later in a small white

room. There was a fellow sitting in a chair opposite

me with a shotgun. I looked at him, and he looked

at me. I had never seen him before. He walked to

the door and shouted: "He's awake."

Andrej wandered in. His arm was in a sling, his

ear was bandaged, and he had a black eye. "How

are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay," I said. "A bad knee and a few bro-

ken ribs. You don't look so well."

'S You should see the other guys," he joked, but

he was obviously hurting.

They had agreed not to do it, but after finding

out about Silvie and Milos they had decided to at-

tack the Blood's headquarters.

The Blood had been waiting for them. Seven dis-

sidents had been killed, including one woman who

was captured and raped. When they finished with

her, they tossed her into a vacant lot. The police

were everywhere, Andrej said. Whatever the Fox

and OZNA were up to, the locals had got fed up

and raided both the Blood and the dissidents. I

hated to tell him it had been CRML pretending t

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

205


205

be the Blood who had killed Silvie and Milos. He'd

been tricked and had gotten all those guys killed

attacking the wrong thugs.

I told him I had learned where the CRML com-

mand post was located, that they were planning a

nice slaughteø for him and his friends, and that we

had to hit them first. I asked him how many guys

he could gather.

"Yesterday a hundred, today twelve," he said

sadly. He shook his head and looked unhappy.

"The truth is, Nick, Katrina runs things now. I

don't know whether anyone will come with me af-

ter the disaster I led them into."

"I'll take care of Katrina," I said. "A dozen will

be fine. Get guns, shotguns, pistols, rifles, the heav-

iest stuff you can find. We'll do it tomorrow morn-

ing. I'm afraid it's the only way to undo your

earlier mistakes. "

S'Katrina won't like it. "

"I'll talk with her."

I gave him a reassuring

smile.

"Look," I said, "we all make mistakes. It's your

pride or your life. They're going to kill you when

you try to publish the papers. They'll have to. The

only alternative you have is to run."

He agreed but looked far from happy. I learned

that I was being credited with the neat holes in the

foreheads of those guys in the car. News of it had

reached the grapevine, but no one had heard about

Pierre blowing his top and the consequences.

Katrina came in. "Nick, I am glad you are all

right. Everyone says you have smashed CRML.

But what is this I hear about more fighting tomor-

row?"

I told her what had happened, leaving out the

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NICK CARTER

part about Igor. I told her I had demolished the

CRML imitation Blood operation but not CRML

itself.

"Nick, I don't want any more violence. No one

was killed until the fight you led at Milos's." I

looked at her a minute and said one word: "Ivo."

She gave a start at the mention of the name.

"Violence won't bring him back."

"CRML is going to kill you and all your friends

unless we get them first. I argued against fighting

the Blood, remember. "

"I forbid another attack." When I said nothing

she said, "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"The attack is on." She bit her lip. She knew

there was no way to stop us.

"Listen," she said. "Pin Begovic, thc number

two man in OZNA, was killed yesterday in a suspi-

cious accident. This means OZNA is eliminating

the CRML infiltrators and•the attack is unneces-

sary."

"Or," I said, "it means CRML is seizing final

control over OZNA." She was so mad she got u

and left without a word.

In the morning the mood was funereal. The fou

men Andrej had rounded up acted as if they wer

going to a wake instead of a shootout. They wer

heavily armed. I figured we'd do okay even wit

the small number of men. I explained what we wer

doing and why. They didn't look any happier.

"Look," I said. "You want to end up like Iv

Mudrac or hanging from a rafter like Silvie an

Milos? Let's go."

They continued to drag their feet. "This i

murder," said one.

"How do we know it's the right place?" said an

other. '4 We can't just go in and shoot people."


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207

"If you want to wait until they start shooting," I

said, "go ahead."

"But what have they done to us?"

"Okay, here's how it works," I said, and I told

them as much of the story as I could.

"CRML oiiglnally infiltrated the Blood to cause

the chaos and they needed to call in the Red Army

when the Fox dies. You fell into their trap when

you attacked the so-called Blood headquarters," I

said.

"Why make another mistake?"

"CRML didn't get the documents when they

killed Milos and Silvie. They have to attack in the

next few days or you'll print the documents, right?

So we're going to hit them first, mess up their com-

mand center, and give you the time you need to get

the documents printed. " There was a deep silence.

"Okay, let's go," said one, and the argument was

over.

We pulled up across the street from the address

that Igor had given me. I was planning to go up

with them, but there was no elevator. With my leg,

climbing stairs would only slow them. They piled

out of the car and carried the guns into the build-

ing. I checked my watch. When they had been gone

three minutes I went around to the trunk and got

the shotgun. It was only a four-ten, but it would

have to do. I'd seen the fire escape and knew they'd

try to use it. It was better I stayed downstairs; may-

be the idealists wouldn't have the heart to do what

had to be done.

Eight minutes after they had entered the building

the shooting started. It didn't sound like much—

tiny firecrackers popping in the distance. Only a

single passerby even looked up to see what was

happening. He walked on. There was another re-

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NICK CARTER

sponse when I pulled out the shotgun and leaned

against the car. I put the chock on full and lifted

the gun to my shoulder. I wasn't looking forward

to firing the damn thing, not with my broken ribs.

My timing was good; two guys leaped out onto the

fire escape. I planned to let them come down at

least a flight so I could get a better shot. But they

turned and fired into the room, so I opened up.

The first grabbed the side of his head and screamed

as if he had gotten a bee in his ear. My second shot

splattered into the man's gun hand.

I put a couple of more shots into them before

two more guys came out. They had some warning

and came out shooting at me, but they only had

pistols. All their shots went wild. For the first time

on my mission I had range advantage. I used it. It

was more pathetic than glorious, though. The

bastards got caught in the crossfire between the

dissidents and me. They couldn't even defend

themselves.

I listened to the pellets make singing music as

they ricocheted among the iron grates of the fire

escape, singing a tinkling song of death. Three o

the dissidents came running from the building. We

bolted for the car and got out of there as quickly a

we could. One of the dissidents in the back sea

with me was shot up badly. He coughed up bloo

and before we had gone three blocks, he was still.

We parked the car and split up, but I hobble

along with Andrej for a block while he told m

what had happened.

As they entered the building they had knocke

out the only guard and had taken his keys, but the

never had to use them. CRML had been confiden

of their invulnerability. Someone had opened th

door when Andrej knocked, even though they didn'


209

know him. They pushed in the door and started

shooting. It was the right place, all right. There was

communications equipment everywhere, a rack of

automatic weapons on one wall, and even some

Blood literature and police uniforms. None of the

CRML peopre inade it to the rack. It was shotguns

and surprise against pistols.

I was glad to hear all of this. There was, of

course, a chance that Igor might sucker me, but I

didn't figure that was the cnee because I thought I

understood his motivation. They weren't likely to

question him too closely when he told them I shot

those CRML agents, not with his long, illustrious

history at the KGB. But the chaos caused by a big

shootout like this one would help him make sure

his tracks were buried deeply. Igor was in Minsk, a

few thousand miles away, when the second attack

took place.

I said goodbye to Andrej and got a cab. I told

him he had to leave Zagreb, that a couple of those

guys on the fire escape were alive and could recog-

nize him now. I had no idea whether this was true,

but it would give him an excuse to make his exit.

He had done his share. I had a feeling that despite

our efforts a lot more people were going to die be-

fore those documents got published. Katrina was

glad to see mp, but she had a question.

"You did it anyway?" she asked.

"Yes, the CRML command post. It will buy

time." She seemed subdued, not angry as I had ex-

pected her to be.

"We must talk," she said. I nodded. "Some

more of our people have been killed. Two have dis-

appeared, people who knew the details of our plans

to publish the papers. The Belgrade courier will ar-

rive tomorrow morning, but the woman who was

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NICK CARTER

to take the documents to Skopje and publish them

has disappeared. I was going to tell you to go

ahead and leave tomorrow. You're going to

Dubrovnik?" I nodded. "I'll go with you. I have a

friend there who has agreed to carry the papers to

Skopje."

"Good," I said, watching her carefully. She

seemed both upset and tired.

"I don't know how I can go on with this, Nick.

People are dying all around me. I'm tired. Our

position here in Zagreb has become worse. They

say my father is failing and that I should return to

Belgrade immediately s"

"We'll take a drive down the coast,"

I said.

' 'You need a chance to catch your breath. I can

take the papers to Skopje."

"No, with everything falling apart, I want to

make sure you take the film out of the country. My

friend Janos will handle things." I didn't argue.

We went over a few details. I was glad to hear we

would be leaving for Dubrovnik in the morning.

Suddenly we were interrupted by shouts and

yells. We went to the outer room. A guy was kneel-

ing in the middle of the room, blindfolded with his

hands tied behind his back.

"We caught a spy, a traitor," said one of the

gun-toting guards. Another put his shotgun to the

man's head.

"Let's shoot the son-of-a-bitch," said another.

By now a half-dozen people had gathered in the

small room.

"How do you know he's a spy?" Katrina asked.

"Better take him into the other room," I said.

We waited while he was hauled off.

"Jan, how do you know he's a spy?" Katrina

asked.


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THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

211

"Well, at this point, he has confessed. The Blood

paid him to spy on us."

"How did you catch him?" I asked.

"Well, first he told us how involved he was in

Kosovo and then he lit up a cigarette."

"Lighting trp a cigarette is hardly proof he's a

spy," I said. Suddenly I found six pairs of eyes star-

ing at me and a shotgun shifting in my direction.

Katrina quickly stepped toward me.

"Everyone knows what Nick has done for us,"

she said. ' 'He knows not to smoke, but he wasn't

told why." She turned to me. "It's a little trick we

have. The inner circle have agreed not to smoke.

Every once in a while a guy like this turns up claim-

ing to be an insider and the first thing he does is

light up a cigarette."

"Let's shoot him," someone said about the spy.

"He's not even a believer in the Blood."

"He's a goddam mercenary," said another dissi-

dent. "Let's put a bullet in his brain."

"That seems a little too hasty," I said.

"He will get us killed if we let him go," said Jan.

"You gain nothing by killing him," I said. "Why

not trade him for some of your people?"

"What if they won't trade?" Jan said.

"Then we'll have to let him go," Katrina said.

"Well, it's settled." Nobody said anything, so I fig-

ured it was. She slipped her arm in mine.

"Let's go in the other room and talk," I said.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the dissidents

push the spy toward the door.

' 'You know," she said, "just when I think you

have no morality you speak up and help save that

man's life."

"Yeah," I said, "that kind of relates to what I

wanted to talk to you about." I paused a moment.

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NICK CARTER

"Listen, Katrina. It's going to be win or lose in the

next few days, but either way you'll be killed if you

stay in Yugoslavia. It's not a rational thing, you

understand. CRMLshou/d forget about you even if

they lose and wait quietly to see if the chaos they

wanted to produce artificially develops naturally.

But they won't, and they'll kill you. CRML is so

vicious that even some of the men who work with

them, like the KGB, are uneasy. Come with me.

Once we're finished in Dubrovnik I'll get you

aboard an American submarine."

"Nick . .. my father. I have to go to Belgrade

after I deliver the papers."

"Okay, Belgrade then. We can still pull you out.

I'll come back for you myself, but you must be

careful."

"Nick, 1—

"CRML is going to go insane when they see

everything they worked toward all these years de-

stroyed by you. You'll be safe in America. I prom-

ise you that." I was actually looking forward to her

coming to the States. I think she sensed that.

She looked at me tenderly. "My father needs me;

I must return to Belgrade. My country needs me.

Let's not talk about different worlds anymore. It

just makes me sad."

I looked at her but said nothing. She was right,

of course. Tomorrow evening I would be in

Dubrovnik, and the next night I would rendezvous

with the U.S.S. Stone Crab fifty miles off the coast.

I led her to the bedroom and closed the door.

The others had gone, but I wanted privacy. We un-

dressed each other. Later we fell asleep in each

other's arms. The dreams were vivid, brightly col-

ored, and lasted a long time.


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CHAPTER xxn

We were up early the next morning. Katrina

made her usual phone calls. Even listening to only

one end of the conversation, I could tell things

were not going well. There had been more raids by

the police against both the Blood and the dissi-

dents. The newspapers said nothing about this, and

the big local story was about the failure of a refrig-

eration unit in a Zagreb ice cream factory. I had a

laugh when I saw that little item. The controlled

press never ceages to amaze me. The entire rest of

the front page was devoted to the Fox, and it was

clear the population was being prepared for his im-

minent death. He had lapsed into a deep coma and

his vital signs were failing.

Katrina's father had taken a severe turn for the

worse. Her secret contact at the hospital, a nurse

supervisor she had known many years, told her she

should return to Belgrade immediately if she

wanted to see her father before he died. Katrina

was becoming increasingly frazzled. She paced the

floor between calls and became a bundle of nerves.

Meanwhile I studied the map and drank my Turk-

iSh coffee. I thought I'd figured out the best pos-

Sible route to Dubrovnik, but Yugoslavia isn't the

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NICK CARTER

U.S. and there weren't many routes to choose

from. I had found a little-traveled turnoff that

would get us across the mountains to the Dalma-

tian Coast. After that, there wasn't much I could

do, since there was only one road along the coast.

It ran right along the Adriatic Sea.

If anyone were to learn of our plans, it was this

stretch of the trip that would be the most danger-

ous. There were almost no turnoffs or connecting

routes, and the road was narrow so it would be

easy to set up roadblocks. I had tried to impress

upon Katrina exactly how vulnerable we would be

if our friends from CRML and OZNA learned

where we were going. But there were a lot of calls

and many people involved, and although they used

a code and played some tricky games with the tele-

phone lines they were basically amateurs. I had lit-

tle confidence our plans couldn't be discovered.

I checked Wilhelmina and put extra clips into

my jacket pocket; I went down and checked the

car, a boxy red Yugoslav-built Zastava 100. It was

no Maserati, but it would have to do.

All morning our departure kept getting delayed

by more phone calls and mysterious arrivals and

departures. The Belgrade courier had reported that

she was being followed and had to run for cover.

No one knew if she was even close to Belgrade.

Suddenly there were a lot of tearful goodbyes and

hugs and I found myself walking arm in arm with

Katrina down the st;airs to the street. I looked at

my watch; it was nearly ten o'clock.

"Nick, I'm sorry we're so late. There are so

many loose ends still untied," she said as we drove

off.

I assured her everything would be fine. We sat in

THE MASSACRE

215


215

silence for a long time, then she said, "I don't know

how much more of this I can take. Sometimes I

think I am losing my mind. You're always so cool

and organized, I don't know how you do it."

"Experience," I said. "I've been doing this for a

while. YotknÉed to rest and get away from all this."

I still wanted her to come to the States with me, but

I didn't say that just then. She slipped over next to

me and put her arm around me like a high school

girl.

"We can stop at the Plitvice lakes for lunch," she

said happily. "Have you seen them? It is the most

beautiful place in the country."

I shook my head. I didn't care one way or anoth-

er about the lakes, though stopping might help

Katrina's mood. It sounded to me from the nurse's

reports that her father had about had it, and we

had a tough two days ahead of us.

We drove southwest toward the coast. 'The

mountains grew higher, and large, thick forests re-

placed the farmland. The country grew more and

more beautiful. But as beautiful as it was, the coun-

tryside didn't prepare me for the lakes. We parked

the car and Katrina got out the lunch. Scenery

aside, I was glad to stretch my legs, and with no

breakfast I was nearly as hungry as I had been

when we hadn't eaten in the mountains.

There are sixteen lakes, each spilling into the

next lower lake by way of waterfalls and cascades.

I had seen a lot of scenery up until now, but noth-

ing quite like this. There were few people around

except for several tourists and some fishermen. I

waved to one old man and he showed me a string

of trout and a half-toothed smile. I had already

walked away, when he came up and gave me four

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fish wrapped in white paper. I tried to politely re-

fuse him, but it was no use, and he wouldn't take

any money either. He said he didn't fish that much

and just liked catching them.

The lakes were surrounded by the biggest trees

I'd seen in Yugoslavia; some must have been a

hundred and fifty feet tall. We ate our lunch and

drank our wine next to a small waterfall. Katrina

finally relaxed. I imagined this was what the real

Katrina was like, where she belonged. She looked

at me, and with a smile she said she was feeling

better and was ready to leave.

Instead of continuing on the main road, "we

turned off to remote Lika Valley into the tiny vil-

lage of Gospic, where Katrina tried to call the hos-

pital to inquire about her father, but she got no

answer. I turned on the radio for the hourly bulle-

tin on the Fox. There had been little change in his

condition.

We climbed up the steep, winding road from the

lush, fertile valley to the spine of the rugged Velebit

Mountains. As we neared Halan Pass, suddenly, as

if by magic, the forest ended and the barren, chalky

hillsides began. I pulled over. We could see miles

and miles of the Kvarner Gulf before us. The sea

was a bright, sharp blue sprinkled with olive-green

and cream-colored islands. I studied the winding

highway down the coast. Descending the chalky

mountainside was like entering another world as

we moved from primordial forest to the coast,

which reminded me of the south of France.

Soon we were on the famous but narrow high-

way running south. The mountains were now miles

behind us and the landscape rich and flat. We

stopped at Zandar, an ancient city. It had been


217

heavily damaged by German bombing during

World War II, an all too common occurrence in

Yugoslavia, but appeared well restored. I looked

around a bit while Katrina made her calls. People

were clustered around radios everywhere, in front

of shop wtldows, cars, and when I went into a

store to buy some wine there were a half-dozen

people just standing around listening to the latest

bulletin. For them, the rest of the world had

stopped.

When I returned to the car I found there was no

news. Katrina's friend didn't answer, and the Bel-

grade courier had still not shown up. The road

south continued along the flat plane, but the land-

scape was dotted more and more by olive orchards

and vineyards. Katrina sat in stony silence beside

me, her cheerful mood from earlier a thing of the

past.

As we approached Split I watched Katrina grow

more and more miserable. I myself was feeling a

little apprehensive and beginning to think about

stepping aboard the U.S.S. Stone Crab without

Katrina. I wanted her with me, not stretched out

cold in some morgue full of holes.

When we reached the ancient Roman city of

Split, we noticed that everything was draped in

black. The Fox was dead. People were still

clustered around radios but this time they looked

gaunt and numb. Some were crying, but most just

looked stunned. There was funeral music on all the

stations. It would take them a while to adjust. The

man who had led them right or wrong for forty

years was no more. The Fox had gone to join all

the other great leaders.

Katrina had me listen to the radio while she went

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to call. She wanted to know if the Fox had made

his promised announcement endorsing the dissi-

dents. There was no mention of it, maybe because

they were still playing music. But if it turned out he

didn't endorse them, I wouldn't be surprised. I'd

never believed he had any intention of doing it.

That was just too much crow for the old Fox to eat.

Katrina came back to the car looking haggard.

There was still no word about either her father or

the Belgrade courier. The radio went into great

medical detail about the history of the Fox's ill-

ness. Any normal man would have died six months

earlier. Still watching little clusters of stunned peo-

ple moving about like zombies, I pulled out of the

city. I hadn't seen anything like it since the Ken-

nedy assassination.

have always opposed the Fox," Katrina said,

"but it will be strange without him. I hope we can

have a country without a dictator and still not tear

one another apart. " I just nodded and kept my eyes

on the narrow, twisting road. Frankly, bigshots

come and go and unless they get you into a war and

get a lot of people killed, the world goes on more or

less the same as before.

It was beginning to cool. A few small clouds lay

on the western horizon. We drove through an area

of small fishing villages that had turned into re-

sorts, called the Markarska Riviera. The beaches

were small and scattered among piles of rock.

Katrina insisted we stop so she could phone.

When we finally reached the port of Ploce, she

made her call and stayed on the phone a long time.

She came to the car absolutely stony. I figured

she'd gotten the news, but I didn't ask.

Soon we were driving through a swampy area

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

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219

and she said, "The courier has finally arrived in

Belgrade. My father is dead. He died just two

hours before the Fox. The nurse couldn't get away

sooner without attracting attention." She stared

into space. "I can't believe it, he is dead." Then she

broke down sobbing and I looked for a place to

park. I spated a small, rocky turnoff a minute or

two later and pulled over. I made her get out and

walk a bit, even though she was making horrible,

desperate sobs. We looked out over the Adriatic

Sea, which looked beautiful. I said little, but I held

her and let her crying run its course. When she was

through, she turned resolutely and got back into

the car. Again, I had to admire her strength.

We were making our way south when I began to

get a funny feeling the yellow car on our tail.

Maybe it was the way it was driving, or the size of

the passengers. I made a quick, last-minute turnoff

to the town of Ston on one of the few side roads

off the highway, and the Fiat whipped on past.

Either I was wrong or he had lost us. I drove into

town and parked at the square near the famous

Church of Saint Michael and kept watch for the

car. After fifteen minutes I drove back to the high-

way; we had no other choice. This was our only

route.

I skidded out onto the highway and pulled up

behind a big diesel truck. There was no sign of the

yellow Fiat. Pretty soon, though, I began to get

that funny feeling about the guy on our tail. This

time it was a green Fiat, with three guys crammed

into it. I pulled off the road at Treteno and circled

around the small park. I ripped around the square,

scattering tourists like a flock of pigeons and then

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hit the brake. When my fellow sightseers in the

green Fiat pulled around the corner, I put a single

slug into their right front tire. The Fiat twisted and

slapped into the sides of two parked cars. grunted

with satisfaction and hopped back into the car.

' 'They are probably waiting for us down the

I said to Katrina,

road—more of them, that is,"

who had remained silent all this time.

"How could they find out so quickly?" she said.

I looked at her. "We may never find out," I said.

"But what is certain is that they want us very bad-

ly, and right now."

I pulled back to the coast highway. I was glad

Katrina was coming back to life.

"How well do you swim?" I asked.

c 'Not well enough to swim to Dubrovnik, if

that's what you have in mind." It was still half an

hour's drive to the famous walled city.

"I was thinking of Kolocep."

"The island is too far, Nick."

"We'll stick to the road then," I said.

I concentrated on the driving. We wound our

way down the rocky coast. Most of the time we

were high above water, between sixty and seventy

feet. Suddenly I saw something.

"Look, a roadblock," she said. Damn! I knew

the yellow Fiat hadn't just disappeared into thin

air. lhere it was, blocking the road with a gray

police car. Apparently CRML had connections

with the local police, too.

They must have seen us coming because they

began driving toward us. I pushed the pedal to the

floor. The Zastava did all it could. We plowed

through to the sound and smell of ripping metal. I

knocked the yellow Fiat in wobbly circles toward

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

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221

the cliff, but it didn't go over. They tumed the car

around and came after us. I wove in and out of

traffic, but they came up right behind us, taking

even more risks than I did. The next thing I knew,

the guy riding shotgun had opened up on us. I

barely heard the sharp cracks of the pistol over the

roaring The back window shattered into

thousands of pieces. Katrina ducked, then pulled

her own gun. She twisted around as best she could

and opened fire. I wondered if she was just aiming

for the car. Then our front windshield splattered in

front of me. I waited for a blind turn, pulled over

to the left, and hit the brake. I spun the wheel hard

when the Fiat, surprised by the move, pulled up

next to us. Our right side cracked into their left

hard. There was a terrific jolt, and we started spin-

ning in circles. I fought for control. For a moment

I didn't know whether it was them or us that was

going over the edge, but then suddenly we slammed

into the embankment. The car twisted so that it

pointed in the direction from which we had come.

The abrupt stop threw me hard against the wheel,

but I turned in time to watch the yellow Fiat tip

and slide gently over the edge.

Our Zastava was in bad shape, but when I

turned the ignition it started right up and we drove

the last sixteen miles to Dubrovnik rattling like a

collection of tin cans headed for a recycling mill.

We ditched the car on the outskirts of town. Our

suitcases had been shot full of holes, but we

dragged what was left of them out of the trunk and

tried to disappear into the throngs of tourists as

quickly as we could. I noticed that Katrina was

carrying the trout.


CHAPTER XXIII

Dubrovnik is actually two cities, an old city

completely surrounded by massive stone walls and

a newer, outer city that has grown up around it and

is now filled with tourist hotels. Cars are allowed in

the new city, but only a few delivery vehicles are

driven within the walls of the old city, for the

simple reason that the streets are too narrow except

for the Placa—the main drag. Because of its spec-

tacular location and because it is considered the

best preserved medieval city in the world, Dubrov-

nik is one of Yugoslavia's main tourist attractions.

During the spring and the summer, when its festi-

val of plays, dance, and music is in full swing,

Dubrovnik is thronged with thousands of tourists

from dozens of countries. For this reason I had

chosen Dubrovnik for my point of exit. There

could be no better cover than the thousands of mil-

ling tourists.

We took a bus from the outskirts of the city,

where we had dumped the car, to a park near the

old city. We got out here to have a long talk.

Katrina was very shaky and sad and finally after a

long argument agreed to leave with me if her direc-

tor friend Janos Nemcek agreed to deliver the pa-

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

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223

pers to Skopje and organize their publications. She

agreed to come for only a few weeks, "to rest," she

said. She was worried she had become a kind of

walking death warrant for anyone who helped her.

Maybe it would be better, she agreed, to let others

do the work for a while. And if she left for a while,

CRML and ÖZNA would waste a great deal of

time looking for her. This, too, would be good. She

would come if Janos agreed to take the papers to

Skopje. That was a big if, but I felt a rising excite-

ment that she would stay alive instead of ending up

a patriotic corpse.

We walked through the ancient gate of the old

city and wandered the narrow cobblestone streets

until we found the address where Katrina's friends

were staying. They weren't there when we arrived,

but we left our suitcases with a woman who said

they would be back soon. Although we hadn't been

there too long, I didn't like the looks of the place.

There were too many doors and windows, and it

was on the ground floor. Katrina grabbed the

satchel with the documents and we headed off to

the theater to meet with the director.

Dubrovnik is one of the most remarkable cities I

have ever seen. I figured that once much of Europe

looked the way it still did—narrow, twisting

streets, stone buildings, pla7as and fountains all

surrounded by massive stone walls to keep out the

many enemies. Dubrovnik was once a great city

state like Athens. It had ruled a large section of the

Dalmatian Coast and had a fleet of ships that plied

the Adriatic. It also had a republican form of gov-

ernment when almost everyone else had forgotten

what that was, and it had abolished slavery three-

hundred years before the U.S. did. Then suddenly


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it became a backwater and lost its population. Be-

cause Dubrovnik was bypassed by the industrial

revolution, it remained the way it was until the

scholars and tourists rediscovered it.

tlhey were rehearsing when we entered the hall.

Katrina pointed out the director to me, and I

grabbed a seat about two-thirds of the way back

while Katrina went to talk to him. They were doing

Shakespeare's Coriolanus, to my mind the best of

the great bard's plays. It sounded strange in Serbo-

Croatian.

After the director made some adjustments on

stage, Katrina went up to greet him. He jumped off

the stage and gave her a great hug and placed a

generous kiss on her mouth. Something told me at

one time they had been more than friends. After

talking to him a couple of minutes, Katrina came

back and plopped into the seat next to me.

"He'll be finished in a few minutes," she said.

"Great," I said.

She seemed happier than since she had heard the

news about her father. I slid my feet over the seat

in front of me and relaxed, listening closely to the

bard's words. It wasn't too long before Katrina's

director friend came down the aisle toward us.

Katrina rose to meet him. They stood in the row in

front of me deep in conversation.

"Oh, Nick, this is Janos Nemcek," she said.

I pulled myself to my feet and shook hands. He

was a man of medium height with a broad, pleas-

ant face and gray eyes. He looked neither in-

timidating nor authoritarian, but I had heard the

way he ordered his actors around.

Katrina was telling him about the manuscript.

He seemed uneasy, and I sensed he might refuse.

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

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225

She was engrossed in her description of the docu-

ments when he interrupted her.

"Did they kill Ivo Mudrac?" he asked. "There is

a rumor going around."

Katrina didn't hesitate or try to soften the news.

"Yes, we think they murdered him."

"And the' ran over your father? Katrina, if they

killed Ivo Mudrac, a Lenin-Prize winner, •they

wouldn't hesitate to kill me, and I have a wife and

two children now. I know what I told you over the

phone, but I didn't fully realize the situation then."

"But Janos, you're from Skopje. You're the best

person to organize publication there." She then

told him the president of Skopje was one of the

controlled ones.

"Katrina," he said, "I can give you names. . .

I'll think it over, but I don't know."

I couldn't blame him. If he got involved in pub-

lishing this particular set of historical documents,

survival over the next few months weren't too

good.

"What about your father?" he asked.

"He died this afternoon a couple of hours before

the Fox. I guess they are holding back the news in

order not to interfere with the ceremonies they plan

for the Fox."

"He was an incredible man, Katrina. I am very

sorry. I don't think I am brave like your father . . .

or you. I just want to direct my plays and live in

peace. Let me think it over. I will tell you tomor-

row night. We'll arrange to change a line in the

play. If it's changed, I'll do it; if not, then I cannot.

Do you know Coriolanus's speech where he says,

'Call me a traitor, thou injurious tribune! Within

thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hands

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NICK CARTER

clutched as many millions, in thy lying tongue both

"Yes," I said. Katrina nodded.

"If the actor says 'ten thousand deaths' instead

of 'twenty,' then I agree. But let's not meet again.

I have a special place, however, where you can hide

the documents. Come, I'll show you." We walked

back stage.

"How many of these plays of ours could you di-

rect if it hadn't been for people like Katrina's

father?" I asked.

He frowned and bit his lip.

"That's not fair, Nick," Katrina said.

"No, he has a point. I'm thinking about that.

Here, I'll show you," and he knelt down and pulled

out a panel of wood from the wall.

"Here is where I keep my treasures, plays that

will probably never be produced, by writers who

will perhaps never be published." The cavity in the

ancient brick wall was filled with ragged-edged

manuscripts.

"We practice scenes from them sometimes," he

said. "lf I was in the West the big-money men would

probably tell me they're not commercial. Maybe

they are no good anyway, just junk, but I guess I'll

never know. "

Katrina said: "If we keep the Stalinists from

handing us over to the Red Army, there'll be time

for society to change, Janos. "

"Katrina, I don't believe CRML can hand us

over to the Russians. Yugoslavs would fight. We

have all those weapons stored in the mountains,

and the whole army is trained in guerrilla warfare.

And don't mistakenly think the many nationalities

want to return to murdering one another again, de-

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spite what the cynics say."

"You may be right," said Katrina, "but I prefer

not to wait and see."

Nemcek carefully replaced the wood door.

"Ah," he said. "Here, I have one for you," and he

pried open another door. I looked in; it was empty.

"I had a ReW one built," he said. "l have so many

plays now, I need more room. But it's safe. No one

knows about it so far but the carpenter and I. And

the Fox had the carpenter's son shot, so . . . "

It looked okay to me, so I put in the briefcase

and we said our goodbyes.

The timing that night would be tight. I had

planned to go the play but we'd slip out early. The

boat was scheduled to pick me up at ten o'clock.

With the gates guarded we would have to go over

the wall, which seemed easy enough—if they didn't

see us going up. From the other side of the wall to

the ocean was just a few feet.

After leaving the theater we went to the end of

Stulina Street, where we would go over the wall.

An old, beat-up tin can was stuck in a crack in the

•ancient wall. I pulled it out, and a scrap of paper

slipped into my hand. It was from Rosa, my con-

tact. In simple code it said, "All set," and gave me

her hotel room number and telephone. She had

been given the details of my present rendezvous

once she had relayed my message to Hawk. I

looked around carefully, trying to appear the good

tourist. Everything looked fine. It was getting dark,

and we had to race to one of the entrances to the

wall and pay our fee quickly so we could get a look

at the exit spot before the wall closed for the night.

We strolled along the top of the wall. It was a

long way down, but that didn't bother me; with a


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rope it would be easy. We walked all the way

around the wall studying the town carefully and

then headed back to the apartment. When we were

within a block of it a figure emerged from the shad-

ows. I slipped my hand into my jacket.

"A friend," Katrina said. The tall, thin young

man approached us nervously. I glanced around.

"Katrina," he said, "someone has been asking

about you. One of my roommates was approached

by someone he thinks works for OZNA. And there

is a story going around that you are wanted for

questioning in connection with the death of a mem-

ber of the Blood during a street riot. The word is

that if you turn yourself in and answer a few ques-

tions, everything will be okay."

"We can't go back to the apartment then?" she

said.

' Sit may be watched," he said.

"What about our luggage?" Katrina asked.

"We'll smuggle it out piece by piece tomorrow.

If there is something special you need

but I

think this is what you want." He handed me the

four trout wrapped in paper and gave a knowing

grin. "Microfilm hidden in the fish, right?"

"Something like that," I said, taking the trout as

carefully as if they were stuffed with diamonds. I

smiled at Katrina.

"I guess we can get by," she said. "We'll let you

know about the clothes. "

Katrina had some other friends we could stay

with—four women sharing an apartment. Un-

fortunately they already had three friends staying

with them, which made the sleeping arrangements

kind of public. There was room, though, to fry the

delicate trout. We shared a bottle of Yugoslavian

riesling and found places on the floor to sleep. It


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had been a long day, but tomorrow would be long-

er still.

I woke to the clatter of women—-eight of them in

a small, two-room apartment. It's lucky I'm fond

of the female sex or I would have gone bananas

before gettipg out of there. It was like being in a

crowded , chaste whorehouse.

Katrina's tall, skinny friend arrived. He kept

looking at the ladies while he whispered that the

other house had been surrounded by police this

morning. "They told everyone they were searching

for drug smugglers. The whole town is full of police

and OZNA," he told us. We saw him off and made

ready to leave. In a hurried conference we agreed

to disguise ourselves and separate, but we would

keep in sight of each other the rest of the day.

Katrina left for the theater. I waited ten minutes

and then followed her.

It was a nice, clear morning, but the first thing I

noticed was that the police were everywhere. I cas-

ually made my way to the theater.

It was locked when I arrived. Katrina was stand-

ing nervously in front of the door. I picked the

lock, and we slipped back to the dressing rooms.

Then I helped cut Katrina's long blond hair into a

page boy and helped her dye it black. After I

sprayed my fake mustache a distinguished-looking

gray, Katrina and I gave it a conservative,

Germanic-looking cut. I added ten years to my age

with make-up and gave myself a small scar on the

cheek and spent half an hour getting a nice,

trimmed gray beard in place. I went to the theater

shop and cut the heel of my right shoe at an angle

just enough to create a slight, barely noticeable

limp.

When I got back to the dressing room, Katrina


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was putting the finishing touches on her make-up.

She looked like a different woman, but still beau-

tiful, though I felt bad about the long blond hair

lying on the floor. I watched her wander around in

her blouse and panties looking for the right dress.

She found an old-maidish print dress. I put on a

colorful tourist's outfit-—a blue leisure suit with a

bright yellow shirt and a phony gold chain around

my neck.

We left the theater in our disguises and stopped

to get something to eat at a local café. Even while

I sat there I could feel the town fill with goons and

police. When we finished breakfast we remained

seated until I saw the tour groups beginning to

make their rounds.

Then we got up, and watching each other closely

so we didn't get our signals crossed, we joined sep-

arate groups about thirty feet apart. Once when the

groups were close enough I heard Katrina getting

her lecture in French. Mine was in German and

Italian.

We toured the Rector's Palace, probably the

most impressive building in the city. The rector was

the man who ran the city on a rotating basis for

only a month. He couldn't leave the palace while

he served. Most of the lecture that accompanied

our tour was long and erudite. I smiled bleakly at

an old man and his wife who seemed almost as

bored as I was. He nodded, and I started up a con-

versation with them. I noticed that Katrina was

deep in conversation with a middle-aged man.

From the Rector's Palace we went to the Domini-

can convent, Sponza Palace, and finally down the

main street, the Placa, to the Franciscan convent.

Each of these places was filled with great art, but


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231

the places between them were filled with OZNA

and police. I must have walked past two hundred

pairs of watchful eyes during the course of the

morning.

In the chapel we caught up with Katrina's group.

It was otwious to me that she was scared. The rea-

son wasn't too hard to figure out—she had three

goons following her. I hadn't expected anyone to

spot her. One of the goons had sharp eyes, and it

would be best to close them permanently.

As the place began to clear out of both groups, I

caught her eye and gestured for her to take the side

door to the restrooms. I said goodbye to the old

couple and promised to meet them for lunch.

Katrina slipped out the door. The goons hung

around a minute, uncertain what to do, then fol-

lowed her. I hung back in the shadows.

As soon as they had gone through the door, I ran

over and opened it a crack. There was a long, wide

hallway beyond, and the goons were standing

around in front of the ladies' room talking quietly.

A couple of little old ladies came out. When they

reached the side d80r, I stepped back and pre-

tended to look at the statue of a saint.

When I went back to the door I saw the goons

moving for the ladies' room, pistols drawn. I

leaped through the door like a leopard. Two of the

goons had already entered the ladies' room. The

backup saw me and at the last moment turned his

pistol in my direction, but Hugo, biting deeply into

his throat, cut short his intentions. In almost the

same motion I pulled Wilhelmina.

Shots rang out, and I pushed through the ladies'

room door expecting to find Katrina lying on the

cold concrete. One of the goons was looking up

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and firing at a window high over the toilets. I stuck

Hugo deep into his back and twisted. The second

goon turned and started shooting, but in his excite-

ment he plugged his friend, who was still in front of

me. I shot him in the forehead.

I dragged all the bodies into a broom closet next

to the ladies' room and covered them with old rags

and newspapers. Then I raced back to the ladies'

room and climbed out the way Katrina had ob-

viously gone. I slipped my head and neck out of the

window and pushed myself through. When I

landed on my feet, Katrina was right in front of

me.

"What happened to those men?" she asked.

"They've seen their last ladies' room. Let's get

out of here."

"I hope there won't be any more of this," she

said. "They tried to shoot me when I climbed

through the window."

"Don't worry. We'll leave as peacefully tonight

as tourists." But as we hurried through the streets

we saw even more police than before.


CHAPTER xxiv

I went to a crowded café for lunch. Katrina sat

by herself directly across from me a few tables

away looking unhappy. I thought that she might be

thinking about her father, but I really didn't know.

I wasn't especially cheerful myself, but I had a

practical reason. Ten goons were scattered around

just this one café, and there must have been a

dozen cafés in the area.

After lunch we resumed our sightseeing. All af-

ternoon the walled city filled with more police and

plainclothesmen. CRML must have been going all

out to nail us even at the risk of tipping its hand.

They were taking chances bringing in so many

players who weren't in the know.

Everywhere I looked, there were the wrong kind

of eyes, searching, but not finding. And I was

standing right there, hiding in plain sight. If they

dumped any more goons into the place they would

end up blocking one another's view. Even the tour-

ists had begun to notice. There were stories out

about a drug-smuggling ring. People complained

about being searched and questioned when they

tried to come in or out of the walled part of the

city. I noticed guys walking the walls with auto-

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matic rifles, and I heard no tourists had been al-

lowed up on the walls since noon. Someone said it

was because they were making repairs.

Late in the afternoon when Katrina's tour and

my own drifted close together for a minute, I

mouthed the word "theater" to her. I had had

about as much of this as I could stand without tak-

ing a look around. I walked down to the end of

Stulina Street to look over our exit once more.

Dubrovnik has two gates; I strolled by them both.

There were a dozen policemen at each, searching

everyone coming and going. And goons of one type

or another were hanging around. I wasn't in the

city of Dubrovnik, I was in the prison of Dubrov-

nik. It wasn't going to be a departure tonight; it

was going to be a breakout. The place was swarm-

ing with tourists, and I figured a lot of innocent

people were going to get hurt.

I took a long, slow walk around Dubrovnik

studying the streets and buildings more carefully

than I had done before. When I had finished I

looked around for a crowded bar, somewhere the

goons might figure I was one of their own sneaking

off to bend an elbow. still had an hour and a half

before theater time and I wasn't in the mood for

dinner. I pushed my way up to the bar and ordered

a vodka straight up.

While I was waiting for my drink to come, I took

a look around. Goons everywhere. Three of them

were standing with me at the bar, but between us

was a tall blond woman. She gave me a big smile

and started up a bit of conversation. I picked up on

it—failure to do so might've aroused the goons'

suspicions.

She wasn't beautiful, a little too finely chiseled in

THE Du


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the face, but she had quite a figure. Her tight black

pants didn't leave much to the imagination. She

leaned up against me invitingly. I could see this was

going to get sticky. I don't think she saw the ob-

stacles to our relationship that I saw. I looked at

the clock; itewas time to go to the play. The thugs

at the bar gave me envious leers. I was a bit of a

hero, I suppose, for picking up one of the beautiful

foreign ladies. I told my lady friend that the goon

next to me was a rich man looking to spend his

money. She turned immediately to the goon on my

right and started paying him special attention. He

didn't mind. I quickly headed for the door. They

never noticed.

The streets were still filled with police. I walked

down the Placa and took a detour to look at the

wall again but stayed far from where we planned to

go over. I saw only a couple of men with automatic

rifles. They must have figured the wall itself would

be enough to stop anyone from escaping. Having

seen something I liked for a change, I went to the

theater.

The crowd was international—American, En-

glish, German, French, Eastern European, Asian,

and OZNA. There were particularly a lot of the

latter. If a room filled with goons didn't scare the

director, I didn't know what would.

I didn't see Katrina when I looked over the

crowd, but I saw Rosa. For a while we just stood a

few feet apart, not saying anything. She was quite

a handsome woman. We looked around the place

together, following each other's eyes. I think we

understood each other perfectly. She was carrying

a large tennis-type bag with her. I figured she had

brought along some heavy weaponry. The doors


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opened and I moved in to find my seat. I sat down

a little uneasily. I was getting worried about

Katrina. Then this strange, dark-haired woman

came in and sat down in the seat in front of me. It

took me a moment to realize it was Katrina. She

gave no sign of recognition at all. That was the way

I wanted it.

There were goons on either side of the stage and

a pair at each exit. I searched the audience, trying

to make my gaze casual. We had a lot of company,

all the wrong kind. Finally the lights went down.

I sat back and forced myself to relax until the

first act was over. When the end of the act finally

came, Katrina and I joined the throng heading for

the door. The half-moon-shaped lobby was packed

with people. There were three pairs of doors, each

packed with goons. I could imagine what the situ-

ation was like outside the doors. For the first tim

in days I was worried. I wasn't sure we were goin

to make it out of Dubrovnik alive. I looked a

Rosa standing a few feet from me, her long blac

hair wrapped up around her head. Her role tonigh

would be a dangerous one. I didn't like it one bit

I walked back in with the rest when the light

signaled us. I took a last look around the lobby.

knew during the next intermission things wer

going to be tight. I had been wondering abou

whether Katrina would be coming with me, bu

now I began to worry if I could even get her out o

there alive.

This time I whispered a few details of our exit t

Katrina. I walked down the carpeted aisle and too

my seat. It wasn't too long into the second act

when I noticed somebody staring at me. The side o

his head was patched up and I thought I knew hi

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face from Zagreb. I looked at him out of the corner

of my eye. He gestured to his buddy. I had definite-

ly been spotted. He kept up the stare hoping I

would bolt. I saw him carry the message to the rest

of his pals but they did nothing. After a minute or

two I leaned forward slightly and whispered. "Be

ready," in kätrina's ear. Then I sat back and

watched the play.

Somehow the line went by without my catching

it until the end. I heard "in thy lying tongue both

numbers." I had worked my way back, playing the

half-heard line over in my mind. "In thy hands

clutched as many millions." Then, S' Within thine

eyes sat ten thousand deaths. Call me a traitor,

thou injurious tribune!" "Ten thousand!" I

thought. She was coming with me. I noticed

Katrina relax as if a weight had been removed. I

waited for the curtain. When the lights went up

they started to move toward me.

But the crowd was on its feet just as quickly and

already milling toward the doors. I took Katrina's

arm——no more discretion was needed. I caught

Rosa's eye. She waited at the end of the aisle until

we had passed and moved in behind us carrying her

tennis bag. The goons didn't hurry. All doors had

been alerted now, I figured. I could see the guy

with the patched head point me out. They probably

didn't see how we could get out, and I wasn't so

sure how we would either.

I looked at the side exits as we moved through

the crowd, but if I stepped out of one of those

doors I also might step into a half-dozen guys with

automatic rifles. I kept pushing for the lobby and

whispered to Katrina that we were going to make

our move. I looked back through the crowd.

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Rosa's head was bobbing in and out of a sea of

faces. I kept looking until I caught her eye; she

blinked that the message had been received. I

didn't have any detailed plans as we moved into the

lobby, but I drew Wilhelmina and slid her into my

jacket pocket. I'm tall, which is an advantage; I

could see more of what was happening than most

of the goons, not to mention the civilians.

Just before we entered the lobby a guard at the

end of the aisle made a grab for me. I stuck him

with Hugo, deeply, but missed the heart on the first

stab. I twisted Hugo out and tried again. This time

I was right on the mark. Katrina saw it happen out

of the corner of her eye and made a slight wince,

but she said nothing.

The lobby was packed, and the thugs were wait-

ing for me. I saw them pushing through the crowd

from three different directions. I had to think fast.

"So many, Nick," Katrina said quietly.

"Count your steps," I said. "Concentrate o

your feet. It's an old trick." She smiled at me. "Af

ter we get out of the building, don't run in

straight line, and try to keep sideways to th

shooters when you can." She looked doubtful.

"You'll be all right,"

I said. I just hoped sh

wouldn't be too nervous to aim straight.

"Ihey were getting close now. I studied the doors

There was no way through them without shooting

I didn't know how I could get a decent shot in th

undulating crowd, and then it hit me. I remem

bered the little leap for the window I had made i

the ladies' room that afternoon, and as soon as

remembered it, I acted. I leaped as high as I could

swung out Wilhelmina, and shot the two thug

standing in front of the right door. The recoi

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knocked me a bit off balance as I came down. Then

I put a couple of slugs in the ceiling. The crowd

panicked. I screamed "fire" several times as loud

as I could and the crowd hit the doors like an

avalanche. The goon behind me to the right opened

up right into. the crowd, the cowardly son-of-a-

bitch. I up, just to put a bullet down his

gullet, but I couldn't get a clear shot.

The screaming, terrified crowd poured out of the

doors and surged down the street. We tried to stay

in their center. The street was filled with a line of

police and OZNA shining spotlights on the crowd,

but I don't think that made what was happening

any clearer to them. It just frightened the crowd

more.

We stayed with the center of the crowd for half

a block. The police and OZNA scattered to side

streets to get out of the way. We heard shots.

Somebody had opened up on the crowd, seemingly

at random. When I looked back, I saw both the

crowd and the police line but couldn't tell who was

shooting. In twenty feet we'd break free of the

crowd and be visible. We sped up and emerged

from the mass at a run—and shooting. Some po-

licemen tried to block our way, but I put away the

first one with a single shot in the gut. I clipped the

second one on the side of the head as we ran by.

The police and OZNA opened fire. A lot of in-

nocents started taking bullets. I caught another

thug in the eye with a kiss from Wilhelmina; 'he

seemed to be shooting blindly. He spun dead like a

toy top. Another gunman dropped flat on the

ground and opened up on us. I returned fire but

couldn't get a clean hit. I fired and fired, but the

guy was too damn lucky. I emptied Wilhelmina at

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him and still he was shooting back unscathed. Sud-

denly his body twitched three ways at once. Rosa

had caught him with her Skorpion. I seized this op-

portunity to put a fresh clip into Wilhelmina.

A goon moved from behind a post and opened

up at less than ten feet away from us. I pumped two

slugs into him and watched him fall. The bullets

kept coming quicker and quicker. I grabbed

Katrina's hand and swung her forward. "Run!" I

screamed. The bullets were splattering around us

now, tinkling on the cobblestones like hard-iron

rain.

In twenty yards we'd be around -a corner. I

turned and emptied Wilhelmina at our pursuers

and saw a few more men hit the pavement. Then I

saw Rosa running desperately about thirty yards

behind us. I sprinted toward the protection of the

corner and reloaded.

Katrina rounded the corner first. There were

bullets everywhere, almost all of them headed in

our direction. Just as I turned the corner I swung

Wilhelmina around and put slugs in the direction

of our closest pursuers. One guy doubled over and

another grabbed his side. Then I passed around the

corner out of sight.

Katrina was already halfway down the block. I

twisted around to watch the action, but kept mov-

ing at a jog, waiting for Rosa. The rain of death

was growing thicker. I heard two bursts from

Rosa's Skorpion. She came around the corner in

her black dress, her black hair flying, at a sprint.

But she took the corner a little wide and was still a

good target. She looked at me. I caught her eye just

as a submachine gun opened up on her. She caught

a full burst and was lifted right off the ground. Her

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arms flew out helplessly in different directions.

When her body fell to the pavement, I knelt down

next to her. She gave me a vague smile and with her

last strength she tried to motion us on. She was

trying to tell us to get out of there. Suddenly her

body went stayed there one stunned second

but Katrina's cry brought me into action.

*lhere was nothing to do but run. Katrina had

reached the end of the block, but in the confusion

turned right instead of left. I cursed our luck.

When I reached the cross street I saw her running

frantically back toward me. Two guys with

carbines had opened up at the end of the darkened

street. A dozen of the thugs following us had al-

ready rounded the other corner. The two riflemen

seemed the biggest threat, so I decided to take them

out. It was long-distance shooting and it took five

shots but I silenced them. It was time to run again.

I turned down the next short block and turned

left once again. The wall! I pulled out the 9mm

climbing rope I'd bought in Zagreb and tied it

around my waist, unwound it, clipped on the hook,

and swung it up over the wall. A gunner on top of

the wall opened up on me. Katrina shot him. I

pulled the rope taut when the hook had caught and

said, "Climb!" to Katrina. "1'11 hold them."

I went back to the end of the corner while

Katrina started climbing. When I reached the cor-

ner I threw myself on my stomach. There were two

dozen men running down the block toward me,

some in uniform but most in plainclothes. Some

had carbines, some pistols, some carried sub-

machine guns. Only my arm and head angled

around the corner. I waited until they got close and

then opened up, hitting the first five guys in a row,

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one after another, like shooting ducks in a shooting

gallery. Then I emptied the clip into the rest, slid in

a fresh one and kept firing. A lot of guys didn't

make it back to the other end of the block. They

fell one after the other. They tried to shoot back,

but I wasn't much of a target.

When Wilhelmina was empty and they had scat-

tered, I turned and ran for the wall. Katrina was

almost up. I reloaded; I was almost out of ammuni-

tion. A bullet splattered near me. Another guy on

top of the wall was shooting at us. I picked him off

with two shots. Finally Katrina made it up and I

followed like a monkey. Our pursuers rounded the

corner and opened up on us just as I dropped be-

hind the battlements.

"I didn't mean to shoot him," Katrina said. "It

was an accident." For a moment I didn't know

what she was talking about; then I remembered.

She had never killed before.

"It's all right," I said. "Remember, Katrina, it

was him or us."

I could see a couple of guys running our way

around the wall. I got up and looked seaward.

Below us was a red speedboat. I waved and some-

one waved back. I grabbed the rope and pulled it

up. The wall that was supposed to keep us in was

now an insurmountable barrier to our pursuers.

They pumped a lot of lead into that stone wall, but

all I did was walk over to the other side and let the

rope drop down. I helped Katrina over the side,

then turned and took care of one of the guys still

running around the top of the wall to get us. The

second guy, watching what happened to his buddy,

lost his nerve and ran for it.

I went over the wall feeling a tremendous surg

THE DUB


243

of relief as I swung down the stone face and hit the

rocky base. The boat was just a few feet away and

I climbed in to join Katrina in the back seat.

"You'll like the U.S.A.," I said, reaching over to

reassure her. Then I turned and looked up at the

massive wålrof Dubrovnik.

"Nick, I'm not going. I can't," she said.

I turned and looked at her. "Of course you can.

You'll be killed if you stay."

"I can't go. This is my country. This is what my

father fought for. I can't leave while everything is

happening. " I tapped the driver on the shoulder to

signal him to take off.

"You have to go now," I said.

"I can't." She pulled out her pistol and pointed

it at my gut. It didn't mean what it seemed. I knew

she wouldn't shoot me. I looked at her long and

hard. She was right; this was her country, her

home. I knew I had to let her go. I leaned forward

to the driver. "The quay," I said. "We have a pas-

senger to let off, if we can do it safely."

"Yes, sir," he said. It must have sounded like

suicide to him, but he didn't argue. I was back

among pros.

For all the chaos in Dubrovnik, the quay was

quiet. A few tourists strolled among the fishing

craft and yachts.

"No more Western technicians in our country,

Nick."

"I'll tell them," I said. "That's all I can do." I

looked at her. "You won't change your mind?"

"You're very sweet, Nick, but I can't."

"Pull over," I told the driver.

"Anything I can do? Anything you need?" I

asked. We pulled alongside the quay. No one paid

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NICK CARTER

us any attention. I held my hand up so she could

use it to climb out of the boat. When she took it, I

held her a minute. It took all my years of training

to let her go. She climbed up.

"Oh, Nick," she said. "Here." She reached out

and handed me twenty bucks Yugo.

"What's this?" I said.

"Buy yourself a caraboose steak in remembrance

of me. "

"I will," I said. I reached out my hand once

more and she took it.

"Take care of yourself, Jesse James," she said,

and then she turned and walked away.

'SLet's get out of here," I said to the driver.

"There's a patrol boat coming." I didn't have to

say another word; he let it rip—full throttle. The

patrol boat tried to intercept us as we left the bay,

but we were too fast. We picked up another, faster

one a few miles out to sea. I pulled the out

from under the back seat and rigged it up and let

them have a long burst out of range to let them

know to keep their distance. Soon we were cruising

in international waters.

An hour before sunrise we had reached the ren-

dezvous point. I watched the U.S.S. Stone Crab

surface. The crew came up on deck and saluted me.

Then the captain came up to confirm his instruc-

tions. He saluted and addressed me as "sir." I was

back in the U.S.A.

The next morning I took off from a NATO air

base in Italy, flying my own Phantom. I pulled out

east over the Adriatic and cruised along the

Dalmatian Coast thinking of Katrina. The Adri-

atic looked bluer to me than ever. The day was

cloudless. I wondered how it would all end. I

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THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

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banked west and checked my watch. I had one re-

fueling stop. In a few hours I would be in Washing-

ton.

Again I thought about Katrina. It would be a

long time before I went back to Yugoslavia. Right

now I was doing Mach 2, high, very high over the

blue Mediterranean.


POSTSCRIPT

The documents incriminating the "controlled

ones" and their CRML masters were never pub-

lished, but they served their purpose. OZNA

raided both the dissidents and the Blood and seized

all copies of the documents. But instead of being

CRML's great victory it was their undoing, be-

cause the contents of the Na7i documents leaked to

the Fox's loyalists in OZNA. They seized control

of the organization and confronted the controlled

ones, who were arrested and forced to resign. The

OZNA head threw a suicide party about which

there were many sad obituaries in the papers. But

the Fox's regime was not Stalin's, and within a few

months the dissidents, Blood, and CRML were re-

leased from prison but kept under the watchful eye

of a reformed OZNA.

Even dead, the Fox was the cleverest and

toughest Yugoslav of all. He had turned the

greatest threat to his regime into one of its greatest

victories. His enemies had been set at one another's

throats—Stalinists, dissidents, and fascists. When

they had drawn each other out of hiding and had

mauled each other badly enough, the Fox's boys

moved in and picked up the pieces. For better or

246

THE DUBROVNIK MASSACRE

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247

for worse, after his death the Fox's succession went

exactly the way the Fox wanted it.

Katrina had been a brave and wily lady. She

lasted almost six months, but then disappeared. I

was sure she had gone into hiding. I could not be-

lieve that She was dead. I promised myself I would

go back one day and find out. Besides, I owed her

some money. I still haven't found a place that

serves caraboose steaks.

Yours truly,

Nick Carter

FROM THE