Field of Blackbirds - Clayton Jeppsen & Lindsey Jeppsen (me reader txt) 📗

a man in his forties. He was balding with a ring of dark, wirey hair around his head. There were dark circles around his eyes. He had a large nose and a slightly crooked smile. His face was round, along with extra fat under his chin, but his weight was only listed at one hundred and seventy pounds.
Antigo took a breath, “His name is Dmitri De La Tori. He’s a bad guy, Marianna. He works for the Gambino family, which means he’s in deep with the Mafia. He has a record of auto theft, money laundering, racketeering and assault with a deadly weapon. He’s also been an investigative lead in two missing person cases.”
Marianna was only hearing bits and pieces of what Antigo was saying. She found Dmitri’s personal information. She moved her finger downward across the paper and stopped at his home address, 205 Via Costello. She said it to herself softly and then she said it again.
“Thank you Antigo.” Marianna gathered up her letters and began heading for the door.
Antigo stood up, “Marianna, what are you doing?”
“Don’t worry. From here I can manage on my own.”
Antigo followed her out, “Let me go with you!” he shouted.
“I’m not going anywhere, Antigo. Relax, I’ll be fine.” assured Marianna.
“Be careful, Marianna. If you need me, call me.”
Marianna turned and waved good-bye. She was grateful to have a friend like Antigo. When Marianna got out onto the street, she noticed it was less busy than before. The sun was beginning to set. The bus would take too long, so she was relieved when she saw a taxi just across the street letting out a few tourists. When it was cleared, Marianna hopped in the back seat.
“205 Via Costello please.”
Marianna tried to find reasons not to go. She could only think of what Marcielli would say if he knew what she was about to do. But her convictions only grew stronger as she thought of living the rest of her life in fear. She thought about the letters and the threats. She thought of how many times Rico and Dmitri had parked outside their apartment. How they showed up at her school. How they stuck a knife in Marcielli’s door. How they had followed her to her grandmother’s and finally she thought about the nightmares she’d been having, of watching her husband murdered right before her eyes. She didn’t want this for their baby. Adrenaline filled her body, expelling anger from her soul. There was no turning back now. She would never have this much courage again.
When they reached 205 Via Costello, she asked the driver to wait for her and call the police if she didn’t return in ten minutes. She wrote down Antigo’s phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

************

Antigo pulled over to the side of the road and turned off his lights when he saw Marianna get out of the taxi. He concealed his gun at his waist and made his way across the street. He made sure to stay out from under the street lamps. He watched as Marianna climbed up to a second story apartment. Antigo reached the stairwell and hid himself in the shadows. He tried to remain as quiet as possible as he waited, watched. Marianna knocked on the door.
Antigo drew his gun . . . . . .

Chapter 23 – Just Causes


Twenty miles north of Zvornik, Bosnia 1992

Though the mission was precariously uncertain, the liberties attached were refreshing. The opportune moment had introduced itself. No one was expecting their return. Nikola even labeled the mission as a suicide mission. They would however, carry out the task in which they were assigned. They would radio in the severity of hostile movements in the towns of Zvornik and Srebrenica and they would map out the best routes for the Serb withdraw.
Radenko hadn’t slept much since he learned of the assassination attempt on his father. It was the even hum of the Jeep’s engine that seemed to break his insomnia. Lazar didn’t want to wake him. He drove straight for the smoldering ball of gold resting on the horizon. It was so bright, Lazar found it hard to maintain obedience to the pale white lines along the blacktop. The sun’s rays cast a beautiful glow on the inhabitants of the valley. Stone farmhouses, rows and rows of unattended crops, trees preparing to bare themselves and frostbitten wildflowers lying slumped over at the highway’s edge. Winter had begun its expedition, an expedition sure to impose added hardship on the refugees throughout the country.
Lazar knew his opportunity for chivalry had been lanced. He didn’t even know if Milla was alive and if she was, he doubted a second chance with her would be granted. But he finally felt engaged in a just cause. If it required his life, Lazar would get the message to the refugees that the Vojska Srbije was headed their way. Resistance would be met with unforgiving force, but there was time to vacate the camp and move south where the Croats had better grip of the territory.
The miles began ticking away. They were just outside of Zvornik when Lazar saw a bus in the distance off to the side of the road. A small multitude gathered around it. As they drew nearer, Lazar could see what was happening. They were refugees, mostly women and children. Serb Soldiers were ordering them off the bus at gun point. Lazar slowed as they passed, but the bus obscured his view of the crowd. He had to know if she was there or even if there were any familiar faces. Lazar applied the brakes and made a u-turn. As the jeep met the gravel shoulder, Radenko woke up.
“Miss a turn?” mumbled Radenko, squinting into the sun.
“There’s a bus back there full of refugees. That’s our first stop.” voiced Lazar.
Radenko didn’t know much about this girl or about what really happened between her and Lazar, but he knew almost nothing would splinter Lazar’s focus and dedication in finding her.
Lazar and Radenko earned the attention of the other soldiers as they pulled in behind the bus. Radenko stayed in the jeep as Lazar stepped out and situated his rifle over his shoulder. After realizing the soldiers weren’t alarmed by their presence, Lazar looked straight past them and quickly scanned the faces in the crowd. The scope of his search so narrow he almost failed to capture the radiation of emotion. They were frightened and tired, their faces heavy with fallen hope. The look of desolation and gloom had sold them out entirely. They had come this far only to trade optimism and anticipation for defeat. She wasn’t there. But he took a moment. He made eye contact with a few of the refugees and wished he could grant some fiber of hope for them. Lazar hated to think of what Milla might have endured or might be bearing now.
“Can we help you with something, Corporal?” inquired one of the soldiers.
A sergeant quickly interrupted, “He’ll have to make his own catch. These ones are ours!” He laughed as he jammed the tip of his rifle into the chest of an elderly man.
“We’re not interested in your refugees, Sergeant.” assured Lazar. “We only stopped to find out if you have been through Zvornik or Srebrenica or if you’ve run into any resistance in the area.”
“We haven’t spent very much time in Zvornik but if you plan to go into Srebrenica, prepare for a fight. The refugees have joined the resistance there and the Croat Paramilitary supply’s them with more defenses everyday. Don’t try to get through there by yourselves.” the sergeant warned.
Lazar got back in the jeep and began to drive away when he heard a scream, followed by the stutter of machinegun fire. He hoped he wouldn’t hear more, but he found himself drowning the opportunity by speeding away. Now was not the time to be noble. He didn’t want to lose the race by scratching at the starting line. Every life is precious, Lazar told himself. But he only had one life to lose, one life to give, redeemable by Milla alone. Radenko could see the redness in Lazar’s eyes, but he quickly glanced away, allowing Lazar time to reconstruct his poise.
It was clear they were nearing Zvornik as little bits of the city began to leap out at them. The farmhouses were in clusters now. They were passing connecting highways, remote bus stops and small convenient stores hoping to attract the first sales.
“Lazar, when you see a place to get gas, pull over. We should fill up while we can and I need to make a phone call.” This was the first chance Radenko had to contact his father.
“You got it Private!” promised Lazar, obviously more optimistic than before. “Give the General my love and support.”
Lazar saw the yellow and green BP sign growing taller as they approached. The two pulled into the station, both appearing overly cautious of their new surroundings. Lazar paid the attendant as Radenko found a pay phone on the side of the store. Radenko reached into his pocket for the one dinar the call would require. It was then that he noticed a green, military-style truck coming down the road. The truck slowed and turned into the station. Radenko saw the big eagle crest of the Croatian Paramilitary forces on the side of the truck. He saw two men in the cab. He anticipated encounters like these, knew he had to be vigilant and ready. Radenko assumed an unyielding grip on his Ak-47, aimed it toward the truck and began walking in Lazar’s direction to warn him. But then something strange happened. Radenko made eye contact with the driver of the truck. The driver was startled and became evasive as he sped out of the station. It struck Radenko that they were equally surprised to see him as he was to see them. This led to a probability that Zvornik was still neutral ground.
Radenko removed the handset, exposing the digits that separated him from silence and his father’s voice. Radenko felt almost weary. He wasn’t sure why, but he hesitated. He wanted to hear his father’s voice, wanted to make sure he was okay. Radenko wondered if his father suspected conspiracy among the ranks and he wondered if it was appropriate to advance the idea. Radenko wanted to make his stand next to his father,