Kosovo Syndrome

* *

"So are you going to kill me or not?"

The suspense was killing Heather, if not the posse of armed men. They were on their third conference and had still not decided on her fate.

Heather scoured the month-long crash course in Serbian she had taken for something she could ask them but drew a blank. It was unlikely her situation would improve if she were to ask one of the armed men where the ladies room was.

Meanwhile, they eyed her at intervals and went back to their discussion over what to do next. Perhaps they were fighting over who would pull the trigger.

"If only," thought Heather, knowing fully well that a bullet through the head would be one of the kinder fates that could befall her. She had seen how some of them looked at her. She had a fair idea what they were thinking. She closed her eyes and shuddered inwardly. Some of the men were big and they'd be big down there.

A mewling sound reminded her she was not alone in the car. Mr Aleksander had turned impossibly pale and was muttering a prayer under his breath. The men outside might decide to start with him first. Heather would enjoy watching that at least.

With every passing minute, her fate grew more grim. The men who did not eye her with lust eyed her with hatred. How else are you supposed to look at someone who has come to facilitate the sale of your country to a Canadian billionaire?

Just when she was about to ask again, she heard the sound of tyres. Three large jeeps showed up. A woman got out of the one in front and approached her.

"Ms Franklin, I presume?"

Her voice was accented, but was the best English Heather had heard all trip. She stood at five and a half feet, dressed in full body camo with a gun in her right hand. Her face was much more memorable. A scar started from her left temple. Heather's eyes followed the groove down to her eyebrow before it crossed over her nose and bisected her face diagonally all the way to her chin. It was a deep furrow, like a line furiously scribbled out on paper. A separate, shallow scar went from her right ear to her lower lip. Her face looked like that of a patchwork doll.

"Do you know how I got these scars?" she asked Heather in a passable Joker voice.

Heather still stared at them, mystified. The woman laughed and slapped her hard across the face.

"Oh the plans I have for you," she said. "An American hostage. You will prove useful to me."

Hostage. So they were not going to kill her immediately. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The woman barked orders to her men who got into the waiting jeeps. She took two men and sauntered around to the passenger side door where poor Mr Aleksander was on his fiftieth futile entreaty to Jesus. The crotch of his pants was wet.

"Mr Aleksander. How nice to see you again?" she said in English for Heather's benefit. "You look better than when you were on trial for corruption. I assume all those juicy kickbacks from Salinger Energy have helped."

"Please. I'll give you whatever you want. I'm insured against kidnappings," he said breathlessly. "You can get any ransom."

"That might have been useful if I wanted to kidnap you," she replied. "Do you see what your men did to my face that night? That's just my face. You don't want to see where else they did their work."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know - "

"Well you know now. It'll be the last thing you know."

She turned back to Heather.

"Go with my man and get into the jeep. No sudden movements. Don't try to be a hero. Remember... you're just as good of a hostage without a leg."

Heather nodded and collected her pack and lighter. The man, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Mark Calaway (also known by his stage name, The Undertaker) grabbed her arm and escorted her to the lead vehicle where she got in the front. She saw the woman talk to Mr Aleksander for a long time before her cohorts grabbed him and hoisted him out of the car.

She watched him begging and crying all the way to their vehicle. The men produced a length of chain and tied one end to the rear fender of the jeep. The other end was wrapped securely around his ankles. He begged and pleaded even as the disfigured woman got in beside Heather.

"It's a long ride to our destination, Ms Franklin. A long ride through an active war zone. It's best if you didn't see what has happened to my beautiful country."

Before Heather could reply, Not Undertaker slipped a bag over her head. She saw complete darkness for a few seconds before her eyes adjusted to the faint light filtering in through the cloth.

She couldn't see much, but there was nothing to prevent her from hearing Mr Aleksander's demented screams when the jeep started towards its destination.

* *

Time stops when you can't see. One moment, Heather had a bag slipped over her head and the next it was taken off. How much time had elapsed in between, she was not sure. It had likely been a few hours given the brilliant sunshine of earlier had given way to dusk with night rapidly eating up any remnant of the sunset.

One of the men yanked her out of the car. It took a few moments for Heather to take in her surroundings. There were hundreds of barracks. Men, and a few women, in combat gear, marched and trained nearby. There were several other larger buildings towards the edge of the cliff, indicating they were now in the foothills.

A group of soldiers who were climbing up a steep rope net stopped and looked in her direction. She tried to gauge their estimation of her. Further on, there was a firing range where rows of soldiers with AK-47s peppered holes into a target board. Many soldiers were crawling through a barbed wire laden obstacle course nearby.

"Mr Aleksander looks in better shape than he has in years."

Heather turned towards where her scarred captor pointed. The chain was still intact at the back of their jeep. It was unfathomable that the mangled, blackened pulp that remained had been a human being a short while ago.

"Come with me," said the woman and dragged Heather by the arm. As she followed her captor, Heather became aware of hundreds of dilapidated houses and tents adjoining the military buildings. Heather was taken to one of the bigger buildings and forced into a solitary room with a bed, a sink, a toilet and a window.

"What do you think, Ms Franklin?"

"I've had better," she replied, decidedly unfazed. "Give me my cigarettes and lighter or it will reflect on your Yelp review."

"Funny. You have a smart mouth, Ms Franklin," The woman smirked. "Don't you worry. We will be putting that smart mouth to use very soon."

Saying this, she closed the door. Heather checked her bed. Unlike the plush queen size bed in her hotel room, she would now have to make do with a cheap metal bed. She adjusted her weight and heard it creak. There was a mattress and a thin blanket. The rest of her room was not much better. It was definitely not what her Priceline booking had promised.

But she was alive. A fact she had been unsure of earlier. She took out a cigarette and lit it. Taking it between her lips, she took a long drag and blew a thin stream of smoke upwards. The familiar feel of nicotine flowed through her body and she knew for sure that she was still alive.

* *

DAY 2

Heather was shepherded into a small room. One wall was covered with a self-styled flag of the Serbian Liberation Army. A video camera was set up on a tripod. A motley group of rebels stood around, curiously awaiting what was going to happen.

"Did you sleep well?" the scarred woman asked Heather. In truth, she was too exhausted to be bothered by her new accommodations and had slept like a baby.

"Here," she continued, handing her a sheet of paper. "You will kneel in front of that wall and read out what we have prepared."

Heather knelt as asked. She was flanked by two men holding M16's. The flag wall was behind her. The other woman walked to the camera and started recording.

"My name is Heather Franklin. I am an American citizen and a lawyer at Griffin, Markham and Wiley."

What followed were the requisite warnings as to what fate may befall her if the powers that be did not comply with their demands.

"... the demands are as follows."

Heather scanned through the next three paragraphs before bursting into laughter. She stopped and tried reading further, only to dissolve into a fit of laughter again.

"Is this is a joke to you?" asked the scarred woman.

"It must be a joke if you think you will get any of these demands."

The woman bristled with anger. Her face darkened into a scowl and her eyes flashed fire.

"You will kneel and read the demands as they are written."

"Listen, Jigsaw. You have grossly overestimated my worth if you think you'll get any of what's written on this piece of paper," said Heather plainly. "The people I represent will write me off as the cost of doing business and replace me with another lawyer by the end of the week."

Not amused, the scarred woman fixed her with a glare and spoke slowly, enunciating her threat in detail.

"Do you know I'm a trained chef? I learned how to use a paring knife to remove skin from flesh quickly and efficiently. You will read the statement as we have written it or you shall find out how it feels when I peel the skin off you. I assure you it will be excruciatingly painful when I start from the back of your neck and work my way down your spine."

"Free General Savic. Return the natural gas rights to the people who live locally. Prosecute Salinger Energy for engineering a coup," Heather laughed. "You can cut me up and send me back in little envelopes and no one will do any of that. Only now, Uncle Sam will have all the righteous indignation needed to send armed men in helicopters to wipe your rebellion off the face of the Earth."

The rest of the room understood little of what was being said. The scarred woman was breathing heavily now. She knocked aside the tripod and grabbed Heather by the throat. Pushing her to the ground, she straddled her hips and brought her face close to Heather's until she could see her scars reflected on Heather's eyes.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you with my bare hands."

She sat up and smacked Heather hard across the face. Again. A punch to her jaw. Each time she pulled her arm back and raised it over her head before bringing it crashing down onto Heather's face. Flecks of blood flew out.

She pounded away. Repeatedly, until she sat and gasped for air. Heather smiled and spat out some blood.

"I hope you're still enjoying yourself, because that is all you can hope to get from me. You can take out all that rage you have, but it won't change a thing."

The woman took a deep breath and tightened her grip on Heather's throat.

"Fine. Then I'll just record killing you and enjoy watching it over and over again."

The woman took out her gun and placed it under Heather's chin.

"You won't kill me."

"Is that a fact? Are you going to appeal to my better senses?"

"No. Hers."

Heather looked at a female soldier sitting at the far end of the room. She was dressed in full fatigues.

"While you've been giving orders, your men keep glancing in her direction. It's as if they're looking to see if she approves."

The soldier in question finally looked up.

"I'm a lawyer, Jigsaw. It's my job to read the room and to know who is the smartest person in it."

The woman atop Heather finally stopped gasping. She cocked her gun and placed her finger on the trigger.

"That's enough."

The woman in question finally spoke up. The scarred woman reluctantly got off Heather and let her stand up. The woman gave orders and everyone else quietly exited the room, leaving only Heather and herself.

"Nice to finally meet the one in charge."

"How did you know?"

"I've seen the news. I know who you are."

"Marija Kovačević. With a J."

It somehow failed to alarm Heather that she was talking to someone on the Interpol Most Wanted list.

* *

"An old NATO base from the nineties. It serves us nicely."

Marija had taken Heather for a walk. The behaviour from the men had dramatically changed when they saw her with Marija as opposed to earlier. From hatred to curiosity.

"I take it you're the diplomatic one," said Heather, nursing her wounds. "Perhaps you could share some tips with Jigsaw."

"Anja is my sister," said Marija. "My baby sister. She wasn't always like this - both physically and otherwise."

Marija had a Mid-Atlantic accent with no trace of her Eastern European heritage. She had obviously done her schooling and university abroad. She was tall, towering over Heather at about five ten. Her body was lithe and toned with slight musculature. She could have easily been a ballerina or a gymnast with some training. Her face was pleasingly feminine, with a shock of dense black hair coming down to her shoulders and eyes as blue as a cloudless sky.

Heather had seen that face on the news - usually in the context of a terrorist attack. A mass shooting in Belgrade. A car bomb in Sarajevo. A series of coordinated explosions in Zagreb.

"You should really watch yourself around Anja. She will kill you if you make one wisecrack too many. She has always been impulsive, but now..."

"What do you plan to do with me?"

"I haven't decided yet," answered Marija. "For now, let's get you checked out and back in your room. I'll talk to Anja and my men and see how you fit in."

* *

"This is the closest we have to a hospital," said Marija, escorting Heather to a collection of large tents. "Get the doctor to make sure nothing's broken and take a painkiller if you want."

She left a soldier to guard her and left. Heather gingerly made her way inside the tent. There were around ten beds with bandaged people on them. Some lay silent and others writhed and squirmed in pain. Several nurses rushed back and forth. The soldier guided her through a partition to a smaller area of the tent.

There was a queue of patients in front of a doctor. Mainly women and children. She saw the woman at the far end examine a child. She indicated to a young makeshift nurse to hold his shoulder hard and popped it into the socket. The boy screamed while he was being led towards another part of the tent.

Heather waited her turn. A woman who looked to be in her last trimester was next to be examined. The doctor was efficient, moving from one patient to the next with ease.

"Yes, the American. I was expecting you."

The doctor was of medium height and build. Her mixed-race heritage was evident in her caramel skin tone. Her black hair was cut short and her face looked aged far beyond her years.

"Wren Salinger," She introduced herself while examining Heather's face. "I hear you got on Anja's wrong side. You're lucky this is all she did. She gouged out the eyes of the last hostage she took."

"Thank you for that visual."

"Nothing looks broken," Wren said. "I'd need an X-ray to be sure, but the closest X-ray machine is a few hundred miles away in Pristina."

"Just give me something for the pain and I'll be on my way."

"No can do. The last stock of medicines I got was a month ago. I'm almost out on everything. I have to ration them for those who need them the most."

"And I don't make the cut?" said Heather with a mock pout. "I'm hurt."

"Just take a look behind you."

Heather glanced behind her to see a woman with a deep cut from her knee, almost to her ankle. The ankle was twisted at an awkward angle. She had to be supported on two sides by her two boys.

"Point taken."

She turned to leave before saying.

"Wren Salinger. Any relation to - "

"Yes, your boss is my grandfather."

"There has to be a story there. How did the granddaughter of that man end up here?"

"Not now," said Wren, pointing to her seemingly endless queue of patients.

* *

DAY 4

"I take it you're warming up to your new accommodations."

"The rats are delightful company," said Heather.

Marija smiled at her. It was surreal to see that smile on the face of someone responsible for bombing the military headquarters in Novi Sad.

"I have a peace offering," she said, tossing a carton of Marlboros to her captive. "Don't ask me where I got that."

"Oh thank Goddd!" exclaimed Heather. "I thought I was going to die from withdrawal."

Marija came and sat down opposite Heather. She shook the messy black curls off her face and cocked her head to the side.

"You're a curious one, Heather Franklin. Yesterday, Anja would have killed you had I not stopped her. Yet you goaded her on."

"Look, Marija with a J. You lot will either kill me or you won't. There is very little I can do to change whatever choice you make."

"In truth, we didn't plan for you. Anja wanted to get Mr Aleksander and you were merely collateral damage. She hasn't thought of what to do with you - no bank account for the ransom, no way to get in touch with your employers, no one to negotiate with the American consulate."

"She doesn't strike me as someone who plans too far ahead."

"She took what happened to our father hard," Marija said. "Seeing him overpowered, dragged outside and lynched by the mob - it changed her. "

Heather nodded, vividly remembering the image from the news.

"I'll try to negotiate better accommodations for you. You didn't take away their land. You were just here doing your job and you got caught up in this mess."

"Thanks," said Heather. She got a close look at Marija's face. Her blue eyes looked jaded and weary, far more than they should.

"Of course, you do understand I can't set you free. At the very least you're worth a ransom or a political prisoner being released."

Heather sighed and opened up a pack. Freedom was a distant dream. She had seen the base spanning hundreds of acres of elevated terrain. The border was of thick concrete with rolls of concertina wire along the top. There was an outpost with a turret every fifty metres... and all that was if she managed to somehow make it past Not Undertaker and his cronies stationed outside her door.

* *

DAY 6

"Take a look."

Marija passed Heather a tablet. Through the weak internet connection, Heather saw her face and that of former Serbian energy minister and current human skid mark, Aleksander. All the major news networks had picked up the story and were running it - CNN, MSNBC, Fox, Al Jazeera, BBC, the works.

"You're famous," smiled Marija. "Although I see this is not your first time in the media spotlight."

In truth, Heather stayed as far away from the media as possible. Her reticence often frustrated them when her name was associated with an especially scandalous trial.

"They'll move on. People get kidnapped all the time. I'll last one, maybe two news cycles before one of the Kardashians has a sex tape leaked, and the world goes back to normal."

"Won't your family make a public appeal?"

"I don't have any family left for a public appeal. I don't have..." said Heather, pausing to think. "You could let Jigsaw kill me right now and the only people who will miss me are the senior partner at my firm who was counting on my help for a class action lawsuit and the drug dealer operating in The Ramble who supplies me weed."

Even as she said this, Heather went through the news articles in front of her. There were appropriately grisly visuals of the ravaged countryside. Bodies piled in a mass grave here. A family hanging from a tree there. Two soldiers from the new Serbian army seemed to be playing soccer, a normally quaint sight rendered horrific by the severed human head they were kicking around. One picture had the soldiers celebrating as they kicked the aforementioned head through a goal marked by spent shell casings.