TUZLA
BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA
TUESDAY
Gretchen Casey had conducted numerous base jumps in her time, but never off the top of an office building in the middle of the night with people shooting at her.
Both she and Julie Ericsson had packed Vonblon steerable chutes as reserves and they had worked perfectly, though they never should have had to use them. The women should have been able to drive right out of Kojic’s building, in Kojic’s car, with Kojic drugged up in the backseat. But as any operative knew, Mr. Murphy, of Murphy’s Law fame, had a way of insinuating himself into even the best-laid plans.
When the women touched down from their jump, Cooper and Rhodes were waiting for them. Gathering up their gear, they leaped into the car and made their escape. Examining her chute, Casey realized how close the shooters on the roof had come to hitting her. Several rounds had pierced her canopy. She had been very lucky.
The drive to Tuzla took three hours. Just as during most of their drive from the Slovenian coast up to Zbiroh a few days ago, it was dark and boring. Nobody spoke much. Casey and Ericsson were both disappointed at having lost Kojic. He had been their prisoner and their responsibility. It was an unfortunate accident, but the accident had happened because of carelessness on their part. It was a hard lesson to learn, and one neither of them would soon forget.
Camp Eagle was a black site the United States used to move and interrogate ghost detainees in the war on terror who were being kept off the books. It had a history of covert operatives moving in and out, and therefore the staff knew not to ask a lot of questions.
Casey and her team got something to eat at the Longhorn Café on base and then Gretchen told the girls to get some sleep. They didn’t all need to help her upload the contents of Kojic’s computer back to Bragg. She could do that on her own.
Hutton had arranged for her to have everything she needed, including a private office with high-speed internet and access to a secure telephone. The telephone was unnecessary. She didn’t want to talk to Hutton, not now at least. She just wanted to upload the contents of Kojic’s computer, write up her report, and go to bed, which was exactly what she did. She and her teammates slept like rocks for over eight solid hours. It felt better than any trip to any spa.
Once they had showered and changed clothes, they went back to the Longhorn Café for another meal.
Summer had hung around longer in this part of the world, but as the afternoon wore on, a cool breeze had picked up, suggesting fall was on its way.
It made Casey think about home and what autumn would mean for her. The leaves would be changing colors. There’d be football games, and before you knew it Thanksgiving, and then Christmas.
The holidays were about the last thing she wanted to think about. They always reminded her of the mistakes she had made in her life, particularly when it came to her relationships.
After lunch there was talk of going to work out and even checking into flights home, as Tuzla had direct flights to the United States. They were hopeful Hutton was about to cut them loose.
Gretchen was wondering what she would do once she got back when her cell phone rang. Speak of the devil, she thought to herself. “Casey,” she said as she activated the call.
“You and your team did a good job,” stated Hutton. “We’ll be going through the stuff on Kojic’s hard drive for a long time.”
“I’m glad,” she replied.
“I read your report. How seriously are you and Julie injured? It reads to me like you downplayed things, as usual.”
Casey smiled. He knew her too well sometimes. “I got a little cut,” she said, touching the wound on her scalp. “It probably could have used a stitch or two, but Coop closed it up with Krazy Glue.”
“And Julie?”
“She was slapped in the face with Kojic’s laptop. She’s got a bit of a bruise, but she’ll be fine too. We’re all fine.”
“Everybody’s fine but Kojic.”
“Listen,” Gretchen began, “about that-”
Hutton stopped her. “The guy did it to himself. Okay? Don’t give it another thought. It wasn’t your fault.”
Casey decided to let it go. She didn’t want to talk about it and she wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk from Hutton. “Did you find out anything more about the man who financed Kojic’s purchase of all the Kammler equipment from the Zbiroh bunker?”
“Thomas Sanders,” said Hutton, repeating the name Kojic had given them back in Belgrade, shortly before he had died. “We’re compiling a jacket on him now. There isn’t much out there. What is interesting, though, is that Sanders didn’t want Kojic knowing who he was either. He tried to remain in the shadows, but Kojic tracked an IP address he used one time, and that became a jumping-off point for building a jacket of his own on him.”
“What was in it? Anything good?”
Hutton flipped through the printouts that covered his desk back at Bragg. “There’s mention of someone else we’re trying to run down, named Abressian. Armen Abressian. Don’t know who or what he is. The rest of it is pretty much banking information, but that’s where it gets interesting.”
“How so?” asked Casey.
“It’s like Russian nesting dolls, trying to pick apart all of the shell companies and phony accounts these guys use, but it appears Thomas Sanders has recently done business with your swim partner from Venice.”
“Nino Bianchi, the arms dealer?”
“Yup.”
“The bomb discovered in South America, do you think Bianchi might have had something to do with that?” asked Casey.
“That’s what I want you to find out,” said Hutton.
“How am I supposed to find that out?”
“You’re going to ask Bianchi yourself.”
“All right,” she replied. “I’ll get the team ready.”
“No. You don’t need the team. Just you. I’m going to send a car to get you. Where are you?”
“I’ll walk back over to the Longhorn Café. The car can get me there,” said Casey. “Can I grab a bag at least?”
“You won’t need one,” replied Hutton. “The car will be there in five minutes.” And with that, he disconnected the call.