Kosovo Syndrome

Ten years after I finally worked up the courage to make a profile on Literotica, here I am with another story. It wasn't always smooth sailing. I had some embarrassingly bad early efforts. There were poorly written stories with typos, grammatical mistakes, bland characters and ridiculous plots. I tried and tried again until the Internet took pity on me and gave me a red H. Looking back, I'm thankful for those early efforts, terrible as they were. They remain as a testament to trying over and over again.

My output has tapered off considerably from what it was a decade ago when I could put out a story a month, to struggling to put together a decent story a year now. So, I hope the wait was worth it and ten years of trying with mixed results have finally yielded something worthwhile. Thanks to all my readers, old and new who have stuck with me so far, despite all the ham-handed plots and the abandoned storylines.

A massive vote of thanks to my editor duo of norafares and Bramblethorn, and my beta reader, EditorAlix. If you have not read their work yet, you're missing out.

DISCLAIMER : All events in the story are fictional. Any similarities to real-life people, corporations, or incidents are merely coincidences. All characters involved are adults. There is graphic violence ahead.

* *

The first thing Heather noticed about the man who opened the door of her vehicle was the machine gun he had pointed in her direction. In all fairness, it was the most important part of her predicament, much more so than his pockmarked face.

He barked at her, not that Heather understood a word of it. Finally, realising his ineloquent pleas were not having the desired effect, he reached inside and yanked her out by her hand. Heather saw a few more men waiting outside, all similarly armed and looking menacingly at her.

"Look, gentlemen, will the one of you who knows English tell the others that it is a terrible idea to kill an American citizen on foreign soil?"

Her statement led to a round of heated discussion among the men around her. She reached into her suit. This caused a brief flutter and all the men trained their guns on her again.

"Relax, I just need a smoke. I'll be right here if you need me."

She lit up one of the remaining cigarettes in her pack and sat down on the open seat. The crisp sunshine beat down on her from the nearly cloudless blue sky. It was neither too hot nor cold, a happy medium that her fellow New Yorkers would spend extravagant amounts of money to vacation to.

All in all, it was a good day... with the small exception of the men with machine guns.

* *

ONE DAY BEFORE

DAY 0

"Excuse me, ma'am, but we are about to begin our final descent," said the stewardess sweetly. "Could you please put away your laptop, fold the tray table and straighten your seat?"

She waited with a wide grin frozen on her face for an acknowledgement. It was as if the passenger was not quite aware she existed.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she tried again, her finger hovering inches from the shoulder of the errant traveller. Finally, accepting it would need to be done, she tapped her politely. It had the desired result. The mass of reddish-brown hair swept around and revealed an expression bordering on irritation. The woman looked about the age where she would take offence to being labelled as "mid-thirties".

"Didn't see you there," she said. "How long till we land?"

"About half an hour. Could you straighten your seat and fold the tray table please?"

The redhead promptly complied. The first-class cabin came with a partition. As far as she was concerned, there was no one else on the plane. Except for the stewardess who made her presence known from time to time.

She settled back in her padded rest and looked at the stewardess. A horrified expression was writ large on her face as she stared into the passenger's lap. The redhead looked down to see the head of a pack of cigarettes sticking out of her pants pocket.

"Sorry about that," she said, pushing the pack inside.

"You can't have that on this plane. How did you get it past security?"

"Luciana," the woman read off the badge. "I've spent eighteen hours on two flights and two airports. I really couldn't care less what I can and cannot have on this plane."

The stewardess was taken aback by her tone. She made a motion to step back before the woman went on.

"I'd think twice before reporting me. The best you can hope for is a small fine, that too is doubtful given the people who are flying me in. It might make me change my choice of airline. That's over thirty first-class tickets a year that will go straight to your competition. You don't know it just yet, but you're actually doing your bosses a favour."

The stewardess was clearly beyond her depth. The redhead made room on her spacious seat and beckoned her over.

"Grab a couple of glasses and a bottle of that red you gave me with dinner last night."

Luciana returned a moment later and settled down beside the redhead.

"Now if you won't tell, I won't tell," she said conspiratorially, offering her open pack. The stewardess eyed her with a raised eyebrow before quietly picking one. The redhead lit hers and took a long drag.

Two tall glasses of red wine were poured out on the now unfolded tray table. Luciana lit her cigarette off the tip of the passenger's. They sat side by side and smoked in silence.

"Cheers," she exclaimed, clinking glasses. "There's something you should know about me, Luciana."

The stewardess pricked her ears and listened.

"I'm a very light sleeper. Last night, I did wake up briefly when I heard some rustling outside the partition. Now you wouldn't happen to know what that was about, would you?"

Luciana clapped her hand over her mouth. She had tried to resist the temptation, but this was the most secluded spot on the plane. Just outside the premium first-class partition.

"Not that I minded," reassured the passenger, taking a gulp of her wine. "You do look beautiful when you're busy lip-locked with your crew."

Before Luciana could react, the redhead kissed her on the lips. She tasted the bitterness of nicotine and alcohol. The redhead kissed her deeply and tilted her face to push her tongue into her mouth. The stewardess remained frozen in place.

As suddenly as it started, the passenger disengaged from the kiss and took another long drag of her cigarette. Luciana looked bewildered. Her lips still held the smell of the kiss. She looked at the passenger again, who now looked completely oblivious about what she had done.

The stewardess took a large gulp of liquid courage before moving to kiss the redhead again. The passenger held out a hand and blocked her. She tried again, only to be met with the firm hand of refusal once more.

"Like you said, we're about to land," said the passenger, pointing outside the window. "You should have tried your luck earlier."

The stewardess looked disappointed and was about to get up when the redhead held her hand again.

"Do you have a layover in Belgrade?"

The stewardess nodded.

"Good, then I know you won't mind being slightly late to your hotel room," the passenger said calmly, stubbing out the remnants of her cigarette on the armrest. "I hope you have clean airport bathrooms here."

She looked wide-eyed.

"You had better go out and do your thing now," said the passenger. "Looks like we're about to touch down."

"Who are you?" the stewardess finally asked.

"Heather Franklin," said the redhead, "... and I'll make sure you never forget it."

* *

"Welcome to Serbia."

Heather shook hands with the balding man who was waiting for her.

"A trip of two presidents and a geek. I took off at JFK, spent an hour in Charles deGaulle, and finally I'm at Nikola Tesla. Did you know my car is named after the same guy as your airport?"

The man chuckled at her joke. He had two suited men with him who took her luggage and began rolling them towards the exit.

"Did you have trouble finding your luggage, Ms Franklin? Your flight landed almost an hour ago."

"Yeah, sorry for that. I had to go to the washroom."

She heard one of the suited men sulk and mutter in a heavy accent "woman problems".

"Oh, it was a woman all right, but definitely not a problem," She smirked inwardly.

"Should we go and check out the installations today?"

"No time like the present," said Heather. "Give me an hour or so to freshen up at the hotel and we can be on our way. It's a long drive to Kosovo."

"Salinger Energy flew you in at the right time. You've got the inside scoop on possibly the biggest natural gas fields that have been discovered this century."

"I'm just here to oversee the contract of the drilling and distribution rights," she said, getting into a black car. "Once I'm convinced that Salinger is getting the fair share we negotiated in New York last month, I'll go back and a team of engineers will take over."

The man got in front and asked the driver to start. They drove through the picturesque streets of Belgrade. It was almost unrecognisable from the images on the news as recently as a year ago -- the fighting in the streets, the burning vehicles and buildings. It was the bloodiest coup the world had seen in a generation and it culminated with the deposed President Kovačević hanging in the middle of Republic Square while his supporters and opponents battled violently all around his suspended corpse.

"If we finish early, you can visit The Church of Saint Sava or the National Museum," said her guide.

"I'm here for a few days," Heather said, nonchalantly lighting up inside the car. "It would be a shame if the airport was the highlight of my trip."

"Would you like to do some sightseeing first? We could always go to the gas fields tomorrow."

"I'd rather get the work out of the way if you don't mind."

"As you wish," said the man. "We have a reservation at a five-star hotel in Pristina. After you get some rest, a representative from the energy ministry will meet you and show you the fields tomorrow."

The winding road took them out of Belgrade. The beautiful cityscape gave way to a lush countryside dotted with small clusters of houses. Heather busied herself with her tablet where she had prepared notes for her visit. There were figures and estimates and terms she needed to know at the tip of her fingers before the next day.

"Can we stop for a fresh pack? I'm almost out over here."

"A fresh pack of...?"

"Cigarettes, genius," she groaned. "I tend to get into a supremely bad mood if I don't have any."

* *

Heather was admiring the view outside her hotel window. The city of Pristina had a unique mix of modernity and old-world roots. She could see bright lights on all the way to the rocky mountains where she would be going the next day.

There was a knock on her door. She looked through the peephole to see a young woman wearing far too little, standing outside. Heather opened the door slightly and looked at her.

"Ms Franklin?" Her English was heavily accented.

"Yes," Heather smiled and opened the door wide for her. The woman was strikingly attractive, tall with blonde tresses coming down to her shoulders. Her features were sharp. Heather's eyes trailed all the way down to her long, toned legs.

"I have been sent by Mr Aleksander."

"I'll have to thank Mr Aleksander tomorrow," said Heather. "What's your name?"

"Jelena."

"Jelena, I suppose you know why you're here. There are two things I need to know from you right now before we take this any further. First, how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Are you sure?" repeated Heather. She had a knack for spotting a lie and nothing in the girl's demeanour indicated she was lying when she nodded.

"Fair enough," said Heather. "Now tell me, is anyone forcing you to do this?"

"No," said Jelena. "I need the money and Mr Aleksander pays well. I entertain his guests from time to time."

"Are many of his guests like me?"

"No, Ms Franklin," Jelena smiled. "Most are fat, balding men who get hard when I moan for them. You're the first woman."

"A disgusting glass ceiling to break," Heather thought, eyeing her leggy guest.

Jelena looked nervous. It was much easier when a man was ogling her, licking his lips at the prospect of what was to come.

Heather opened her laptop and opened up her account transfer page. What good was an obscene expense account if not to spend on pleasures of the flesh? Such largesse from Salinger Energy would be repaid a million times over with the natural gas rights she was here to secure.

"Put your IBAN number and SWIFT code here, please."

Jelena complied, unsure of what was going to be expected of her. Mr Aleksander had already paid her in advance.

A few clicks and she got a text from Societe Generale indicating a credit to her account. Her eyes widened as she saw the amount.

"That's just for showing up," said Heather, calmly. "If you choose to walk out right now, you can keep that. No one has to know."

Jelena looked perplexed. Heather lit a cigarette and continued.

"If, however, you were to strip for me," said Heather, taking a long drag, "I might be inclined to add another deposit."

Jelena nodded and turned towards Heather. The dazzling sequins on her dress glinted against the light.

"Don't rush it."

The shimmering dress slowly slid down revealing her flawless pale skin. Heather's appraising eyes watched intently as her dress pooled in a satin puddle at her feet. Jelena was obviously good at what she did, else she would not have been chosen.

"That's more like it."

Spurred on by the encouragement and looking to maximize her profits, the gifted Jelena sat on the couch facing Heather and spread her legs wide like a gymnast doing a split. The thong left nothing to the imagination, even more so when she pulled it aside and revealed her lush orifice to the lawyer.

"Play with yourself for me and there's another deposit in it for you."

On cue, Jelena dipped her finger inside her and started tracing her coral pink flesh. Heather's eyes remained transfixed on her while her fingers traced out shapes and patterns on her lips and her clit. She batted her eyelashes at Heather, daring her to cross the last barrier.

Heather made good on her promise and gave the requisite few keystrokes to add another deposit. Even as Jelena was checking her phone, Heather pushed her pants down to her knees and spread her legs. Jelena's eyes flashed with dollar signs as she dove in.

"Oh... right there."

* *

DAY 1

"Not get much sleep?" asked one of the men in Heather's car. His harsh tenor snapped her out of her drowsy trance.

She merely nodded before leaning back against the seat. She felt drained, both of energy and of enough money to put a kid through college. Once the gifted Jelena got used to the carrot and more carrot approach, she was eager to please, coming to her again and again through the night until she was a quivering mass of jelly.

Their car straddled the rugged terrain separating Serbia and Kosovo. There were frequent disagreements as to whether the line was to be considered as an international border or not. She didn't care how many pieces the former Yugoslavia fractured into, as long as the men paying her exorbitant fees got the natural gas fields they wanted.

Mr Aleksander was seated in front. Here was a man intent on testing the amount of flesh that a skeleton could support. Pale pink skin hung from his jaw to give him a triple chin. His waistline, similarly, betrayed his fondness for beer and red meat. His very expensive clothes were likely custom-made for his build.

"Your surveyor, a Mr Rinehart, has already seen the fields that we have earmarked for your client. I trust you have seen his reports."

"Let's talk shop when we get there," groaned Heather. "I need sleep."

"Very well."

Their car sat between two jeeps with armed guards. Armed loyalists of the former president still hid out in these lands. There were multiple reports of casualties coming from the border every day. Military and civilian.

Heather dozed off again. The stony-faced guards continued to stare straight ahead while Mr Aleksander kept checking his phone. Their convoy snaked through winding roads and idyllic countryside rendered barren by conflict. Somewhere only the ruins of a church remained standing and somewhere else, what was once a house was burnt to ash. The scant remains of villages and towns dotted the countryside, each a testament to an atrocity on civilians.

Just when the embattled people were looking to put the horrors of war behind them, an obscure Serbian had decided to become President by force.

Heather was a light sleeper by any measure, but the sound of the lead car exploding when it hit the IED would have woken up anybody.

* *

The blast was followed by multiple rapid-fire rounds of bullets ringing out. Heather could make out that the car in front of her was reduced to a smouldering wreck. Her two companions immediately pulled out their guns and opened the doors enough to take cover. The hitherto jolly Mr Aleksander suddenly turned paler by several shades and ducked until he was horizontal, or at least as close to horizontal as his frame would allow.

The men from the car behind her poured out and joined the fight as well. She didn't have a clear idea where the enemy bullets were coming from but realised they were not aiming for the car. By all accounts, she was safer inside than out.

The gunfire got more intense. Nearby screams let Heather know that her side was faring badly. The man to her left was now lying supine on the grass with a red pool around his head. His counterpart on her right fired valiantly, but it was only a matter of time before he too met the same fate.

Each passing second came with sickening sounds of lead piercing flesh. The men in the car behind her had all been neutralized. The last remaining armed man to her right made a suicidal run for it. He was halfway up a grassy knoll when a nine millimetre round met his back. His legs folded under him and he rolled back down.

The bullets stopped. Heather looked around to see multiple looming shadows approaching. There were at least twelve men who surrounded her car. They had a look about them akin to a pride of lions circling their prey.

The first thing Heather noticed about the man who opened the door of her vehicle was the machine gun he had pointed in her direction. In all fairness, it was the most important part of her predicament, much more so than his pockmarked face.

He barked at her, not that Heather understood a word of it. Finally, realising his ineloquent pleas were not having the desired effect, he reached inside and yanked her out by her hand. Heather saw a few more men waiting outside, all similarly armed and looking menacingly at her.

"Look, gentlemen, will the one of you who knows English tell the others that it is a terrible idea to kill an American citizen on foreign soil?"

Her statement led to a round of heated discussion among the men around her. She reached into her suit. This caused a brief flutter and all the men trained their guns on her again.

"Relax, I just need a smoke. I'll be right here if you need me."

She lit up one of the remaining cigarettes in her pack and sat down on the open seat. The crisp sunshine beat down on her from the nearly cloudless blue sky. It was neither too hot or cold, a happy medium that her fellow New Yorkers would spend extravagant amounts of money to vacation to.

All in all, it was a good day... with the small exception of the men with machine guns.