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

said Radenko, dropping a pair of boots and two guns left of the doorway.
“Lazar, we need to talk, alone.”
Radenko motioned Lazar to follow him out the back door.
Radenko turned and faced Lazar, propping his leg up on a splintered tree stump, hand on his hip.
“We’ve got a problem, Lazar, a serious one.”
Lazar scoured the horizon over Radenko’s shoulder as though the problem might be in view.
“What did you find out there?” asked Lazar.
“Not what, who.” corrected Radenko, “Goran Rugova,”
“What?” was the only response Lazar could produce.
“Nikola sent him. He wants us dead, Lazar.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to their level, killing my own men. I tracked him. I spoke with him, Lazar.”
Lazar began stroking the sling of his gun across his chest, moving his hands slowly together and then apart, his mind boiling.
“He tried to kill us, Radenko. He nearly took your head off and you let him go?”
“Listen Lazar, it’s exactly what Nikola wanted. He wins if we kill Goran. He’ll make a case against us, treason probably, punishable by death. And if we die, so does the evidence.”
“Radenko, what ‘evidence’ are you talking about.”
Radenko could see in Lazar’s eyes, the start of feelings of betrayal. Radenko began running his fingers through his hair, suddenly exhausted from the ordeals of the day. He knew he had tampered with Lazar’s trust.
“I should have told you a long time ago.” said Radenko. “They trusted me with way too much. It was all in the briefcase, the one I traded for your life in Tuzla. There are maps of mass graves, copies of private conversations, statements and admissions from high ranking officers. It’s me they’re after, Lazar.”
Radenko mused solemnly before he advocated the obvious. “We should go our separate ways.”

“Where do you plan on going from here, Radenko?” asked Lazar. “I mean, after everything that’s happened.”
“I don’t know.” answered Radenko, staring at Lazar’s feet. Then he looked back up, beaming a subtle hint of hopelessness in his grin.
Lazar shook his head. “Radenko, you’re acting like you’ve done something wrong. At the same time you’re not giving Nikola credit for being a horrible, filthy man. You’re not going AWOL, Radenko. You’re being forced out. And considering the choices we’ve made, I don’t think either of us can go back.”
“I guess I’m starting to realize how serious things can get.” admitted Radenko.
“We stick to the plan. We’re going to Montenegro to see your father.”
Lazar reached and gave Radenko a two-pat hug, hoping it confirmed he was invested.
“One thing, Radenko.” mentioned Lazar, “Tell me about this ace of spades.”
“What do you mean?” asked Radenko, shifting his gun from one shoulder to the other.
Lazar grinned, “The briefcase.”

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

“Hey America, how would you like to trade a briefcase for a briefcase?” announced Radenko, interrupting a conversation.
Radenko explained the prize to Reed and what it could mean for them. Radenko knew it was the type of hard evidence they were looking for. He then traced the route to Tuzla on the map and circled the basin just south, where he lost the briefcase. He went on to explain the risk of encountering Serb forces.
“The Vojsko Srbije will stay on the main highway. They have a lot of heavy cargo and artillery to transport. They won’t drive these desolate bumpy roads on the outskirts. Stick to these roads.” Radenko pointed them out. “Nikola and his men should be in Zvornik by now. Once you’re north of Zvornik, you should be in the clear. Tuzla is only an hour farther.”
Reed studied the map, making some notes of his own.
“Oh,” Radenko added, “After you get the case, you must get rid of the van. Goran has seen it. Troops will surely be looking for it. In Tuzla, at the southern tip, there is a train station. Make your escape to the north through Croatia and then into Hungary. There’s a first rate airport in Budapest.”
Animation worked its way into a decayed lingering mood. But this time, Reed wanted the approval of his team.
“What do you think guys? I say this briefcase earns us the right to go home.”
The decision was unanimous, nothing verbal from Angelo, but no signs of protest.
“Listen America,” Lazar warned, “the briefcase is all you need, but there’s a possibility it won’t be there anymore. I suggest your men still earn a ticket home. You won’t last in this country, not by yourselves. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. I’ve never asked you to explain what you’re doing here, but I have a good idea that you’re dedicated to whatever your mission is. But I think you should take what you already have and pass it along. It’s the fastest way to serve your purpose.”
Reed understood the briefcase might not be there, regardless he thought, it was some sort of direction, something tangible in arms reach.
Reed nodded his head and extended his bond, “You’ve got my word Lazar. You have helped us more than you know. Briefcase or no briefcase, my men are going home. They’ve already gone beyond the call.”
Reed glanced over, made eye contact with Marcielli, who was standing at the base of the stairs.
“They’ve earned it.” assured Reed.
Reed then turned back to Radenko, “What did you mean by, “A briefcase for a briefcase?”
Radenko pointed to the briefcase on the table with the operation orders. “We have to destroy that or it will get you killed. If it falls into the wrong hands again, you won’t be so lucky.”
Radenko felt a reverence in what they were doing. He knew that Nikola and his men had pushed into the red zone and away from the Vojsko Srbije. Mass deportation was one thing, but mass genocide was a separate beast. He knew Lazar had seen his fill as well. He knew if Lazar wanted Milla in his life and a remission, which he was convinced he did, he would have to detach himself from the cadence of inhumanity. The truth was; Radenko supported Reed and his team. He had never witnessed so much fortitude. The kind of fortitude you have when you know you’re doing the right thing. When you’re advancing the right causes; causes that fall harmoniously in line with mankinds natural desire for love and peace. They were the types of causes he hoped he would fight for someday.
Radenko kept thinking about what Lazar said; that he was being forced out and it felt good. He counted on Petrovich to be accurate in his assessment. He hoped his mother was watching.

Marcielli was the one to change the topic. “I don’t think Flo can go with us to Tuzla. He needs to be in a hospital and he needs to go soon before an infection sets in.”
“From what I was told by some of the refugees,” said Lazar, “there’s a hospital just off the main highway as you get into Srebrenica. They’ve been accepting refugees that are very, very sick. We’ll clothe him a little more appropriately and they should take him.”

Angelo and Reed helped lift Florentine out of the cellar and load him into the van. Angelo never lifted his head to make eye contact with Reed. Otto packed up their equipment. He progressively became angrier with every discovery of broken toys. Cool toys they hadn’t even got a chance to use: digital cameras, heat radars, homing beacons, Geiger counters and the x-ray document scanner.
Otto was thrilled however, to find his Von Zipper polarizing sunglasses without a nick or scratch. A great marketing testimony, he thought. But every other piece of equipment comprised of glass or soft technology was destroyed from the blast. He was also happy to find the flares, hand grenades and flash and smoke grenades in order.

Lazar was the last to leave the house. The fireplace was still crackling with Reed’s briefcase. It was causing a black smoke to curl around the mantle and cloud up at the ceiling. He offered a small prayer in behalf of the family that had once lived there, that they could, one day, lead normal lives again.
Lazar thought of Goran. He couldn’t believe he had come for them. And he could only imagine the insanity he must feel now, the defeat. Lazar doubted Goran would crawl, indignantly back to Nikola, but rather take his own life.
He directed his thoughts to the strange new décor resting by the doorway, just where Radenko dropped it. Both objects, nothing the same, diseased and unforgiven, but significant to the web in which they were spun. One characterized the hunter, the perpetrator and wrong or right, the fearless. And the other, embodied the sorrows of the hunted, the frightened, the running, always and anxiously running . . . . . Guns and Boots.


Chapter 39 – No Real Time Machine


“You’re driving too fast, Marcielli. Slow down.”
This was the closest Reed would come to them. He conceded to the fact that a ‘one-on-one’ encounter wasn’t practical. The frosty air pushing into the van revealed to Reed only one of their afflictions. Outside in the open, no walls, no protection, no sanctity or decency; the refugees pervaded the landscape. Mortality beamed for promise. Promise for discovery, for reconciliation, for justice and promise to be made whole again.
“It’s a shame that they’ve given up.” said Reed, still casting a steady line of vision out the window. “You said you warned them to leave two days ago. Why won’t they leave?”
“Most of them have.” replied Lazar. “These are