Chapter 36

36

Kosovo

MacD and Raven trudged up the steep mountainside, sweat slicking between their shoulder blades beneath their packs.

The two of them were posing as American backpackers hiking in the region—not an unusual sight in this part of the world. Raven had bragged about hiking the steep and jagged peaks of the rugged Accursed Mountains just across the border in Montenegro several years before. She described them as something straight out of a Tolkien novel.

The backpacking ruse made a lot of sense for other practical reasons, including hauling the gear they needed to bring in and, with any luck, carry out.

A lot of what they needed for this mission they brought in legitimately. They also smuggled two 9-millimeter Walther PDP pistols, mags, and ammo thanks to Chuck "Tiny" Gunderson and the Corporation's private Gulfstream jet he piloted into Pristina. He was staying in the capital city on twenty-four-hour call with the plane already refueled and the flight plans submitted for a hasty return back to the Oregon . They were under orders from Max to avoid gunplay at all costs unless their lives were in immediate danger.

Everything they couldn't bring Colonel Piccinini had kindly provided including his battered but reliable Toyota Land Cruiser.

They passed through the ambush site with their antennae on high alert, stopping only to pick up a few of the dozens of spent brass casings they found scattered in the pine needles.

"That's 5.56," MacD said, pocketing one. He found a different casing, badly weathered and rusted.

"What is it?" Raven asked.

"Swedish 6.5x55. One of the most popular hunting rounds in Europe. Not recent, that's for sure."

They pressed on up the mountain, heading for the informant's last known campsite, their heads on swivels. The warming midmorning sun promised an eighty-six-degree day, just as the weather forecast predicted.

"I'm curious," Raven asked in a whispered voice. "Why did you volunteer for this assignment?"

"Max needed two bodies. You were the first. I'm not great at math, but I figured one more kinda evened it all up."

"No, seriously."

"Look, I've seen you in action. T'es une sacrée bonne fighter, toi ."

"I'm assuming that's Cajun for some kind of compliment."

"No doubt you can throw down as good as the rest of us, for sure. But on my first tour in the sandbox I came across a gaggle of these Kosovo jihadis. They was one rough bunch. Nasty as gators. Just thought I should tag along with ya."

"Appreciate it."

They trudged up the mountain for another two hours, stopping only for a short break of water and protein bars before pushing on. They finally arrived at the informant's campsite.

It was trashed.

Military surplus cooking utensils—a pot, some plates, and silverware—were thrown around. A smoldering firepit was filled with ashy remnants of clothing and what appeared to be a tent. A small cave entrance was blackened by a grenade blast.

"Looks like the bad guys found him first," Raven said. "I wonder what happened to him."

"We should check that cave," MacD said. "If he was lucky, he got killed in the blast. If not? Well, I don't want to think about it."

An AK-47 racked behind them.

MacD and Raven froze.

Maybe their luck just ran out, too.

★

A rasping voice barked in Albanian behind them.

MacD didn't speak the language. Neither did Raven. But they were both smart enough to figure out to raise their hands slowly.

Another command spun them around.

" Mais la ," MacD whispered.

"You can say that again," Raven said.

The angry apparition standing in front of them was half mountain man, half jihadi with matted, shoulder-length hair, a long bushy beard that reached to his chest, and mismatched military surplus camouflaged pants and jacket. A wicked combat blade holstered to his belt, a ragged rucksack, a filthy Kosovo soccer shirt, and muddy Adidas athletic shoes rounded out the crazed ensemble.

He barked again, his AK pointing directly at them.

"I don't speak the lingo, but I get the idea he's not happy we're here."

"If that's who I think it is…"

Raven switched to Arabic. "Colonel Piccinini sent us."

The mountain man replied in broken Arabic. "I don't believe you."

"You are Nedim Ramadani. You work for him."

"I don't work for nobody." Ramadani lowered his weapon. "What do you want?"

"Can I open my backpack?" Raven asked, pointing at it with her thumb.

Ramadani raised his weapon back up. "You, not him."

Raven turned to MacD. "I'm grabbing something out of my pack. But don't you move."

"Not until you tell me to, sister."

Raven slowly unshouldered her pack and set it down in the dirt. It wanted to tip over because of its weight and the slope of the hill. She opened it up and pulled out a red and white carton of Marlboro cigarettes.

Ramadani's semi-toothless smile parted his shaggy beard.

Raven tossed the carton to him. He caught it with one filthy hand and stuffed it into a big jacket pocket.

"Colonel Piccinini also sent some dried rations, and even a few salamis for you—and a new phone. He said he's tried to contact you, but you didn't respond."

"My phone got smashed. Give me that one."

Raven fished the satellite phone out of her pack and walked it over to him.

Ramadani slung his weapon, then booted up the phone. It squelched. He nodded. "Good."

"He'd like to hear from you as soon as possible. Make sure you're okay."

Ramadani snorted. "I'm not his woman."

"He said you saved his life back in the day. I think he's just trying to return the favor."

"Why did he send you?"

"We need your help."

"What do you want?"

"We're trying to find the Salafists up here on this mountain. More importantly, we want to find any guns they might have."

Ramadani spit. "I hate those pigs."

"Are they the ones that wrecked your camp?"

"They hunt me all the time. Not a problem. But I got careless. I won't make that mistake again. Why are you hunting them? Are you CIA?"

Raven shook her head. "No. We're just trying to find out where they get their guns from. Maybe stop the supply if we can."

Ramadani pulled off his ruck and transferred the carton of cigarettes into it as Raven pulled out the pack of MREs and salamis. She handed those to him and he loaded them into his ruck before slinging it back onto his shoulders.

"Follow me."