time, I threw up.
After theyâd been moving around and talking for about an hour, things became quiet. Without my watch, I found it hard to gauge time. I heard a car engine turn over. A short while later, Nadaj pulled open the trapdoor. As I looked up, he pointed an automatic pistol at me and shouted something. He had a bandolier over his shoulder. As I staggered up out of the hole, he kept his weapon pointed in my direction. He neednât have bothered. I wasnât in shape to make any sudden moves.
But the weapon in his hand definitely caught my eyeâa 9mm machine pistol, an MP5. So far as I knew, these were used exclusively by Special Forces, and were favored by âspecial opsâ people in Afghanistan. I wondered how these characters could have gotten their hands on one of those babies.
I was aware how filthy my coveralls were, caked with mud andsmeared with every kind of filth. I felt lightheaded, and not sure of what to do, I just stood there. Finally, the woman told me to sit down at the table with my hands out in front of me. In the center of the table was a partially filled bottle of water and a wormy-looking apple. She took out my passport, flipped through it, then smiled, obviously enjoying her little power trip.
âWe know why youâre here, Alex Klear.â When she nodded in the direction of Nadaj, something told me the two of them were lovers. If they were, they deserved one another. âYou people wanted Ramush. You wanted to grab him and take him back. Right?â
Still playing dumb, I frowned. âRamush?â
âWe donât think youâre with KFOR. Youâre not military. Is that right?â
I was thirsty and tried not to look at the water. This character with the bandolier slung over his shoulder sitting opposite me at the table was definitely the individual in the pictures weâd been shown, all of which were in the glove compartment of our van. I told myself that this was going to have a good ending. I also told myself Iâd gotten out of other scrapes, some of them worse than this one. I told myself Iâd get out of here one way or another.
But while Iâd been in some tight scrapes, Iâd never before been so dumb as to let myself become a prisoner.
I was close to the point where I was running short on optimism. The danger in black operations of this kind is that you donât have fallback. For all we knew, Buck Romero, the guy whoâd organized the Nadaj rendition, was still in the States. Heâd given us a number to call in case of an emergency, but I had to wonder whether KFOR, even assuming Angel and Scott reached someone in Camp Bondsteel, would lift a finger to get me out. The military would only regard us as a bunch of bounty hunters, and now that I thought about it, who could blame them?
Nadaj fixed me with a stare, and just having to look at him up close was enough to shake my confidence a little more. Behind his unkempt curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, and black beard, there was a crafty, malicious look, the look of someone who can smell weakness and willalways go for your jugular. I already knew Nadaj was good at sucker punches. The truth was, I was surprised that I was still alive.
âIf not Ramush, what then? You tell us, you get something to eat and drink.â Vickie tossed my passport onto the table.
I said, âGive me something to eat first, Vickie. Then we can talk.â My voice sounded strange. The throbbing ache in my head was making me dizzy, and the room was beginning to spin.
She shook her head. âWe know youâre not with KFOR. Youâd have ID.â
âI want to speak with someone at the American embassy.â
âYouâd have one of those badges. Am I right?â
âIâm thirsty.â I tried not to sound as tired as I felt.
She hesitated, glanced at Nadaj, then pushed the water and the apple in my direction. Drinking the water in Kosovo can be a ticket to a