The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

recognised it and so it immediately dropped into the category of suspicious. Pandi’s uncle was on stopping duty and walked into the road and signalled it to pull over.

The BMW came to a stop and the driver lowered his window.

Pandi’s uncle leaned down to look inside. The driver was a heavy set man with a full head of black hair, well dressed and in his fifties. The woman beside him was of a similar age and looking pensive. Someone was in the back but Pandi couldn’t make out much detail through the darkened windows.

‘Open your windows,’ Pandi’s uncle ordered. ‘All of them.’

The driver pushed several buttons on his console. The windows slid down.

‘All the way down,’ Pandi’s uncle ordered.

‘That’s as far as they go on this kind of car,’ the driver said politely, a forced smile in an effort to show he was friendly.

‘Are you sure?’ Pandi’s uncle asked.

The driver suppressed his sigh and pushed the window control button with pantomime exaggeration in order to prove his point. ‘That’s as far as they go.’

Pandi’s uncle looked at the person in the back. Pandi hovered close behind to get a look. It was a pretty girl in her late teens. ‘Are you related?’ he asked the man.

‘This is my wife and my daughter,’ the driver said.

‘Papers?’ Pandi’s uncle asked. ‘Everyone’s.’

The driver gave him his ID, collected the others and handed them over.

Pandi’s uncle went through them, each time comparing the face to the photo. ‘How long have you lived in Albania?’

‘I’ve always lived in Albania,’ the driver replied.

‘Always?’

‘I’ve spent some time in Skopje and Sofia.’

‘Macedonia and Bulgaria?’

‘Yes. Skopje is the capital of Macedonia and Sofia the capital of Bulgaria.’

Pandi’s uncle was quite able to absorb sarcasm without reacting. The comment seemed to increase the woman’s discomfort.

‘You have an accent,’ Pandi’s uncle said.

‘What kind of accent?’ the driver asked.

‘A Serbian accent.’

In Albania that was tantamount to an accusation.

‘That’s rubbish,’ the driver said, ruffled.

‘Get out of the car,’ Pandi’s uncle ordered, stepping back.

The exchange had attracted the attention of other officers. It was not that they were particularly interested. Pandi’s uncle was known for being antagonistic. Standing around a checkpoint all day was boring. Civilians were entertainment.

When the girl climbed out the officers’ interest increased. She was very good looking with long brown hair, slender legs wrapped in tight jeans and a jacket short enough to reveal her pert bottom and open at the front to present a pair of ample breasts inside a tight jumper. She had just about everyone’s attention.

‘Where did you go to school?’ Pandi’s uncle asked her.

She was nervous and didn’t answer.

‘Doesn’t she speak?’

‘You frighten her,’ the father replied. ‘Tell him where you went to school. Don’t be frightened. He thinks it’s his job to be scary and insulting.’

The girl took the advice and stiffened. ‘Qemal Stafa high school,’ she said.

‘Tirana?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘You sound Serbian too,’ Pandi’s uncle said, much to the amusement of the officers.

One of them stepped forward. Jeton was his name. ‘We’ll talk with her separately,’ he said, giving his colleagues a wink. ‘Come here.’

The girl didn’t like the invitation and looked at her father. He didn’t like it either but indicated for her to obey them.

She held her jacket closed in a nervous, protective manner as she walked over to Jeton. All the border officers were looking at her, including Pandi, who had forgotten about his uncle.

‘Open your boot,’ Pandi’s uncle commanded.

The father did as he was told. Pandi’s uncle inspected the contents. The father looked at the officer with his daughter who was joined by another. They asked her a question and as she answered they eyed her up and down. One of them felt her hair. She pulled away.

The father didn’t like what he was seeing but Pandi’s uncle distracted him. ‘Lift up the spare tyre,’ he asked. ‘I want to look underneath.’

The father removed the rug that covered the spare wheel.

‘Take off your jacket,’ Jeton said to the girl.

She refused, holding her jacket closed tightly.

‘I said take off your jacket.’

‘What are you hiding under there?’ another officer said, amused by his wit as he mimicked her boobs to his appreciative audience.

‘Come on, let’s take a look,’ Jeton said, tugging at her jacket.

She held onto it.

‘If you don’t take it off, we’ll rip it off you.’

She refused.

He prodded her. ‘Take it off I said!’ He gave her a gentle slap on the side of her head. ‘It will only get worse for you if you disobey us.’

She continued to refuse. He hit her on the head a little harder. She yelped. Pandi’s smile faded, suddenly feeling sorry for the girl.

Her father took a step towards her but Pandi’s uncle grabbed his coat. ‘Stay,’ he warned.

The father tried to yank free. Storen took out his pistol and pointed it at the father’s face. ‘Stay where you are.’

The father obeyed and watched the officers struggle with his daughter’s jacket. ‘Leave her!’ he shouted. ‘Savages!’

They succeeded in pulling it open. The girl dropped to her knees as they yanked it off completely. ‘What are you hiding, bitch!’ Jeton shouted.

‘Pull off her jacket,’ someone cried.

‘Let’s see her tits.’

‘Take her trousers down.’

Pandi wanted to help her but it was pointless to try. His uncle and brother would be angry and so he just watched.

They lifted her up as if trying to get her to stand. She screamed and kicked out wildly. As she wriggled, she slid down until her breasts were jammed above Jeton’s arms, much to the amusement of the others. The father wanted to go to her, but Storen threatened him with his pistol.

The border patrol commander stepped out of the cabin wondering what